


Fade Away

by TheApolloSinner



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Cute, Dark, F/M, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 174,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheApolloSinner/pseuds/TheApolloSinner
Summary: Nomad, Corpo, Legend. V is exiled from the Aldecaldo Clan in his youth, forcing him to do the unthinkable and forgo the ways of the Nomad to survive in Night City. Joining Militech and becoming a private soldier, an accident forces him on the run. Running with Militech's experimental secrets and funds, V sinks to the slums with his new friend Jackie Welles and begins to live a new life of freedom.Question is, when the chips are down and V is fighting for his own life can he ever really escape the corps of Night City, and can he ever be welcomed back by the people who he always wanted to be with?
Relationships: Judy Alvarez & Male V, Male V & Jackie Welles, Male V & Johnny Silverhand, Male V / Panam Palmer, Meredith Stout/Male V
Comments: 355
Kudos: 562





	1. 0 - Les Enfants Terribles

_2049 – The Badlands, outside the Bay Area_

Screams had echoed loudly throughout the camp the past few days, loud enough to keep the camp awake through the night, but not loud enough to draw the terrifying forces of the Badlands to them. Two births happening in such a short space of time would usually be a celebratory affair for the Aldecaldo Clan in better days, but that night was in the running of being one of a majority of bad days.

Resources were always few and far between, especially for so many people that were always on the move across the West Coast. It had been bad enough that they had lost too many crossing from one side of the bay to the other, but to possibly lose another was one more loss that people were just not willing to experience again. The tech they had allowed them to engineer and maintain their vehicles and weapons, their augments too, but not all of it was meant for a natural pregnancy in the middle of the Californian wildlands.

Jonah McCall had experienced such things before, before and after joining the Clan back in thirty-five. Living in Idaho was tough, people were expected to pull their weight from a young age and free-loaders were not spared the rod. McCall could recall that from his own experience before he decided to help out as he learned his way around tech and mechanics on his family’s ranch. Thankfully that experience came in handy on the road, but what it didn’t help was his new family trying to get through one more strenuous situation right after another. He could only listen to the crickets chirping as the main bonfire crackled and sparked whilst horrifying cries erupted once again from the nearest tent.

McCall sighed, his eyes trying to focus on the flames, attempting to ignore the cries. The child that was in the process of being born had already lost it’s father in the trip across the Bay, and it’s mother was still a relative unknown. If Jay-Jay survived the birthing process, then it was much better than they had expected. If not, well, McCall was jaded enough to think that perhaps the child was better off not being born at all.

The screams continued, with McCall remaining stoic, grumbling. “Damn…”

The old engineer had remained guarded since they had crossed the Golden Gate, being Nomads, known and vilified travellers of the Badlands that caused more trouble than they were worth. He hadn’t caused trouble; all he had wanted was a stiff drink and a place to sleep that wasn’t either a tent in the desert or a flatbed truck mid-transit. No, they weren’t even allowed that. Booted from the city limits quicker than any other city had attempted, they were in trouble. He could have saved Alexander, could have possibly given the kid two parents to raise them, but no, McCall had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t quick enough to save the man from the mob.

The Aldecaldos weren’t technophobes, by any means. They had supplies, tech to help and heal their wounded. However, an Aldecaldo tent was nothing compared to an Arasaka birthing chamber, or Biotechnica’s top-of-the-line drug treatments. A violent shriek broke, Jay-Jay’s banshee cry ripping through the tents and the camp. McCall had felt the pain in that scream, but the guilt from not saving Alex kept him sat down at the fire. He felt sick, the pangs of guilt ripping into him, keeping him anchored down as he kept his feet stuck to the sand, hands gripping his rifle tightly. He only managed to relax a little when a voice called out to him, joining him by the fire as the screams died down again, replaced by heavy breathing and panicked speaking from the people inside the nearby tent.

“Jonah, you okay?” the soft female voice called out. “You’ve been sat here for hours now.”

McCall turned to see Maya, the young lady had given birth a few days ago. Maya Palmer had lost the father months before, and the Aldecaldos had already taken her in as one of their own since she had been in the group for almost a year from what McCall knew. “Can’t sleep, can’t think without the screams, makes me think about Alex. Couldn’t save him.”

The woman was clad in off-white garbs, cotton shawls that covered her from the elements as she held her own new-born baby in her arms, the child clad in beige swaddling cloth. Somehow, the child had managed to fall asleep. In the middle of such a grim scenario, the aged engineer was almost jealous of the child in front of him. Sleeping soundly in the midst of the screeches and screams.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, nobody could have saved him as soon as the cars started going. Saul is lucky you managed to grab him, otherwise, we’d be in a much worse state. The kid owes you his life.” Maya managed to console. “Look, I’m trying to say that while you might feel bad now, you’ll get over it in the future. We aren’t stupid enough to exile you because you can’t save everyone. Nobody can.”

“That ain’t the point, Maya. I could’ve…”

“You did the best you could have done, and that’s that, Jonah,” Maya whispered, slowly rocking the babe in her arms. “You wanna hold her?”

McCall almost had to swallow a grumble. “Look, Maya, the kid is cute and all but that ain’t for me and you know it.”

The grizzled camp member could barely look the new mother in the eye, willing himself to keep looking at the flames so he didn’t have to look at Maya again. He turned his head as soon as he felt her eyes burning holes in the back of his head. Maya had always been too kind to a poor soul like himself, and McCall couldn’t rightly figure out why. “You got a name for ‘im, yet?”

Maya smiled, barely hiding her joy as she adjusted her hold on her baby. “Panam, and she’s a girl. Named her after Vidal’s sister, his personal request before the fevers got him.”

McCall nodded, slowly sliding his rifle over his shoulder before he offered to take the young one. Much like her mother, the little girl had a skin tone that was almost like chocolate in resemblance, her hair even darker so. Maya made sure to readjust McCall’s hold on the baby, as the cowboy-engineer hybrid slowly swayed the baby with himself as he hummed to himself. The baby snoozed and dribbled ever so slightly, but holding the child had managed to slowly calm the older man from his experiences mere hours ago. The resemblance to Maya was there too, the dark skin, quick-growing black hair and soft skin. The young lady soon took back her child, bright brown eyes fixated on the baby as she held the new-born to her chest, gently patting her on the back.

“Cute kid.”

“That all you gotta say, Jonah?” Maya chuckled. “If I had to guess, you got the instincts about you, you know? You’re paternal.”

The idea of Jonah McCall being anything resembling paternal made the man laugh, as much as he tried to stifle the sound. “You are a goddamn comedian, Maya, you know? Last person to say that was the same person to ask why I ain’t got a wife either.”

“And why’s that Jonah?”

Jonah grumbled, giving a small smile. “You know the poor woman would probably accuse me of cheating on her with the flatbed, and I’d probably agree.”

Another scream, louder than any other erupted from the tent. Maya instinctively clutched her child, and Jonah immediately turned to her. “Go on now, try and get some sleep. Keep the kid docile-like, whilst she’s still sleeping.”

“You better help them, Jonah,” Maya argued, rocking the baby in her arms as she glared daggers. “You know they need you to keep the tech running in there.”

“Goddamn it, Maya.”

Maya’s glare peered into him. “Get in there.”

As she turned foot to her own tent, McCall couldn’t help but ponder not helping. He felt equally useless in a medical situation as he did when he tried to save Alexander and ended up dragging Saul from a useless death instead. Tightening his rifle strap, McCall ventured into the tent, piercing screams and cries weighing loudly on his ears as the medical practitioners of the clan rushed and shouted orders at each. McCall could see some of the tech had already died, and without a word, had gone to rewiring it to get it back to work. Crossing wires, sparking them out before a small whirring came around, only for more machinery to break down again somewhere else. Eventually, the tech gave out naturally, a symptom of age and the numerous patch-jobs to keep them working long past their scrap date.

Jonah McCall never realised how damn dirty real childbirth was, all he had heard of was that childbirth anywhere but the wildlands were the cleanest and most professional place to be, if not extremely pricey to be there in the first place. There was so much blood, more than he had already seen and definitely too much for it to not be something bad. He had tried to offer his assistance but was rebuffed and told to help comfort Jay-Jay as she continued pushing.

“J-Jonah?” She questioned through gritted teeth. “What are you… argh! What are you doing?”

“Damn it, trying to help you after how I fucked at San Fran! Look, just squeeze my hand and push like you ain’t ever pushed in your life, okay?” McCall asked, receiving a squeeze in return. “You roger that?”

Jay-Jay nodded, screaming so loud and squeezing McCall’s hand that he almost felt like that his hand was crushed when Jay-Jay finally relieved her grip. The four medical personnel had gathered around Jay-Jay, two of them moving away as another, much lower-pitched squeal made itself known. A small body, coated in fluids of varying colours was cleaned off before being handed to the mother before the two quickly rejoined their fellows as they tried to stem the flow of blood that continued to leak onto the bed.

“J-Jo-Jonah…”

“I’m here, Jay-Jay. I’m with you, through thick and thin. Me, Maya, you know the clan is with you.” Jonah managed to reply, just barely. “You just need to stay awake, okay? You got a little boy there that needs his momma.”

Jay-Jay managed to smile, her face growing much paler by the second. Her eyes had sunken as she continued to focus on the little boy in her arms. Her grip tightened around the boy before she looked at Jonah once again. “Please, I... Alex…”

“Alex ain’t here, Jay-Jay. You know that. That don’t matter right now, come on, just keep looking at me.” Jonah ordered. “Look, you got that boy. That boy gonna need a name, ain’t he? Hey, the little girl Maya’s got gonna need a friend to play with when they grow up, and he needs a name. Come on, just look at me.”

Jay-Jay’s eyes started to drift. “I… We… A name.”

“That’s right. Now, come on, just stay awake. Stay with me, Jay.”

The lack of sound coming from the tech usually would have provoked more urgency if there were more people inside the tent. The four practitioners were rushing to stem the flow of blood, to stop an infection and to keep Jay-Jay Ricciardo awake and conscious so she didn’t fall into the big sleep. Jonah did it unintentionally, but he kept one hand under Jay’s neck to keep her straight up with his other arm to keep Jay’s arms from falling, furthermore stopping the babe from falling from his grip. The doctors spoke, rushed, banged around loudly, the baby’s cries continuing to pierce the tent whilst Jay-Jay’s breathing slowed more and more.

The senior midwife, an older lady of the camp, Iona, shook her head at Jonah. Thankfully, Jay-Jay didn’t see the motion. Jonah looked at Jay-Jay once more. “You got a name?”

Jay-Jay nodded: “V-V…”

The young woman had already faded away from the group in the midst of speaking, with Jonah instinctively taking the baby slowly from his deceased mother’s tightening grasp. His eyes closed tight, his hands clinging tightly to the new-born as he slowly rocked the child back and forth as the group of medics began to close up the tent. There was a small wooden seat away from the bloody chaos, which Jonah soon found himself collapsing in the chair. He tried to close his eyes, shutting away the scene from his mind before relenting in the realisation that he couldn’t escape it at all. Staring at the child in his arms with a look of sudden affection, he held the boy to his chest.

“Poor soul, you ain’t even got a damn name. Sorry, little guy. Little V.”  
 **-  
 _2065 – Mojave Desert, Nevada_**

It had taken a good sixteen years, but V had taken to his new job for the Aldecaldos quite well. Assisting Uncle Jonah had been the one thing that had been consistently reinforced almost every day since he was old enough to comprehend words. Like any other young member of the Aldecaldo Clan, he learnt how to shoot a gun and how to drive quick, but what McCall had added to that was learning to fix things whenever they broke down.

The man was getting more grizzled and older with every passing day, and the man found himself needing a helping hand when it came to getting under the car bodies to fix suspensions and bending over to get deep into a car engine. The youth that V had in his bones meant that McCall never had to strain himself climbing onto the flatbed if it needed a quick fix, whereas he could sit back and hand directions where necessary. He’d seen V grow them a little tyke that he had to carry on his chest harness when on a drive, to an energetic sixteen-year-old who was occasionally riding out on his at the front of the pack with the group of young Aldecaldos.

The teenager wheeled himself out from under the nearby Colby ‘Little Mule’ pick-up, hands coated in grease, darkened goggles latched over his eyes before he forced them up. Pale skin had soon become sun-kissed in the Nevada sun, the long mane of black hair had soon been tied up into a bun as he grew, with two little braids dangling in front of his left ear. The top of his grey jumpsuit dangled lifelessly; arms wrapped around the boy’s waist as he handed back McCall’s tools.

“Truck should be all fixed now, just a couple of transmission issues, no need for a new gearbox, not yet anyway,” V announced, the older man nodding with a half-smile. “Suppose you can tell Cassidy his baby is gonna be fine for now.”

“No problem, kid. You’re looking to be a regular city-boy mechanic if you keep these standards of yours you know?”

V patted his old man on the shoulder. “Ain’t a problem to me, got to get with the times at some point.”

The elderly Jonah McCall had to cackle at that. “Don’t let Saul hear you say that you know what he’s like with traditions and not attracting attention. You don’t need to be changing every single truck here into some devilish hybrid between a street and a rally car.”

“Ah well, if Saul says no, definitely means it shouldn’t be done then, I guess. Can’t sacrifice the traditions for those pesky better living conditions now, can we?”

McCall shook his head, mumbling something under his breath about the youth of the clan most certainly being the death of him. The old man shooed his adoptive kid away, the young boy quickly throwing his goggles next to the set of tools as he wandered back out into the burning desert sun.

Nevada hadn’t been too bad of a place to set up camp, at least in V’s opinion. As the youthful mechanic waltzed through the camp with the vigour of any other cocky kid, he handed out compliments and greetings to the other members of the clan. He’d quickly activated the Cyber-Audio System he got from the camp’s ripper-doc, the tech spliced into his skull giving him the mix of radio, phone and internal headphones. The heavy riffs and slams from Samurai’s ‘Never Fade Away’ rocked away in his head as he moved further to the edge of the camp. The plateau the clan was camped at allowed for a greater view of the rest of the desert, great not just for spotting and scouting, but for the occasional small gatherings organised by the youth of the Aldecaldo camp.

“I’m not the one reminiscing but, I’d trade it all for your sweet embrace…” V whispered to himself, head bobbing along as he came up to the steep sand hill that took him to the top of the rocky plateau. “What you did to me, I know, will never fade away!”

The sun had begun to tinge slightly, the bright yellow light it provided every day had simmered into a bloody red spot in the sky. The sand shifted under his boots as he clambered up, his hands gripping the ground as he managed to finally pull himself up the slope of the hill where he could see two figures overlooking the rest of the enormous desert. Both women, he could tell from the hair before one of them got up and began to return to the camp. V untied his jumpsuit and pulled it over his shoulders, zipping it slightly as he walked over. He quickly took the bands out of his hair, shaking his head to loosen the black locks before he readjusted his satchel strap. He took a few deep breaths as he walked over, nodding politely to Miss Palmer as she walked past.

“Finally managed to escape from Jonah’s garage then for the day, huh V?” Miss Palmer said, a sweet smile on her face. “Goodness knows you need to get a little more sun like the rest of us.”

V smiled back. “I did manage to run away, at least today anyway. Can’t say I was so lucky the past few days.”

“Make sure the old man isn’t stealing your youth away, gotta live free like the rest of us one day, V. There’s a reason we’re Nomads, after all, don’t forget that.” Miss Palmer reminded. “Panam’s over there, bored out of her mind.”

V nodded. “Thanks, Ma’am.”

The older woman nodded politely before she slowly made her way down the slope before V continued on his way to the young girl that was still sitting at the edge of the plateau. Panam Palmer might have been his elder by a couple of days, but it never really stopped them from associating with each other. The only time that happened was when they were much younger, and that behaviour was almost immediately clamped down on when the children of the clan were told that the clan was family, and that was that.

Panam Palmer might have been the very opposite of V, at least in looks anyway as well as her own behaviour. V was quite unbothered by remaining in the camp for weeks on end, fixing things around the camp and running errands for the inhabitants. Panam however, at least to V’s knowledge had always been one for exploration. The boy could easily remember the day back in 2060 when she almost got lost in Reno when she was ten. When they left the city, V didn’t leave Panam’s side at all. Since then, V and Panam had always been a little closer than they were with others. V had already estimated that it was the fact that Miss Palmer had been the closest thing to a mother he had, and Panam never seemed to have any reservations about the boy being with them when he wasn’t with Mister McCall.

Sand shuffled and the wind whipped around gently as V slowly sat himself down next to Panam, the small rock wasn’t the most comfortable seat but it didn’t matter as V slowly and intentionally sidled nearer to her. He didn’t say a word until she spoke.

“Stop being awkward. It’s making me feel weird and shit.” Panam mumbled.

V smiled. “Sorry, can’t help it. You angry at your mom again?”

“Nah. Angry at Saul, again.”

V chuckled, turning to look into his satchel before pulled out two cold bottles of suds. “Managed to sneak these from Jonah’s fridge while he was asleep, want one?”

Panam relented on being sullen. “Didn’t realise the way to a girl’s heart was a bottle of suds, you suddenly become a pick-up artist or something, V?”

“Nope, just know that getting anyone out of a mood is to give them something to take the edge off, which, you seem to need. Simple reading.”

V felt the second bottle being ripped out of his hand, Panam twisting the cap before leaving it in the sand. V couldn’t help but observe the girl next to him, how they’d both grown together in perhaps one of the hardest circumstances imaginable. People weren’t exactly clambering to be seen as a Nomad. V twisted his own cap, taking a long sip from the bottle before he sighed loudly. Lying back against the rock, he tried to make himself comfortable, stretching his legs out as he watched the sun slowly begin to set.

Panam was beautiful, he had to admit (but like hell was he going to admit that, he didn’t feel like making things more awkward than he already was around her) and he did ponder the thought of asking her out rather consistently. The curly ringlets of jet-black hair, the braids of her youth slowly being replaced by the dreads that she had started to sport, caramel skin that she always made sure was covered from the sun but left enough to show off some curves that she was clearly confident in. The deep brown eyes, the freckles that surrounded them, every aspect of her couldn’t stop V from thinking about her in ways that he would have been embarrassed to say aloud.

“Simple reading, huh?” Panam questioned. “Saying I’m easy to predict?”

“You can take that however you want, I ain’t explaining. You’re gonna make me feel stupid if I do. You know I ain’t the wordy type.” V answered, before beginning again. “But no, I ain’t saying you're predictable. I’m saying you just gotta read people sometimes.”

Panam nodded, unconvinced. “Okay then, Reading Master, how can you read me and see that I’m being moody?”

“Well, choom, you were shrugging and sighing like it wasn’t anyone’s business when I sat down, you were being all ‘quiet-angry’ and you haven’t stopped tapping your foot on the sand since we’ve been talking. You need to chill out. Relax.”

The dark-skinned girl shook her head, trying to ignore the smile she was showing before sipping at the cold bottle. V might not have had a way with words but sometimes Panam could tell that he did know more than he let on. He was a quiet kid, at least he used to be. She could tell that he had somehow managed to convince himself of his own intelligence since he became a main mechanic for the clan. He wasn’t exactly the most intellectual-looking either, but then again, what real mechanic ever was?

“You’re too smart for your own good,” Panam muttered. “I was trying to go out on a trip to Goodsprings, but Saul wouldn’t let me go. Cassidy tried to argue, but he wasn’t having any of it. Said I’m too immature and I ain’t ready. Bullshit, if you ask me. I’m one of the best shots in the camp.”

V sighed. “Ain’t just about being the best shot.”

“And you would know that how?”

“Being the Jack, better to know more than one thing than knowing one thing and not being able to do anything else,” V muttered. “You gotta be the Jack. Be like me.”

Panam cocked her eyebrow, turning to look at the self-assured boy mechanic. “Sure, V. You want to blow yourself up a little more, or you done?”

Shrugging, V tipped the bottle more, quickly chugging the bottle before he reached into his satchel for his canteen to wash down the taste of the alcohol. “I mean, don’t see how I’m wrong.”

Panam shook her head, almost laughing to compensate for V’s sudden confidence. She noticed him looking up to the sky as it darkened, small sparkles occupying the space where the bright blue sky and sun used to reside. She sighed aloud, finishing off the bottle with a series of coughs. She’d be remiss if she didn’t at least try to one-up her friend at least when it came to one thing. She turned to look at the sky too, where the sun had continued to fade as night began to arrive.

“You got your eyes on anything in particular, there V?” Panam asked. “Never took you for somebody who liked to stargaze.”

V was slow to answer. “I ain’t, don’t know names or anything. Just think they’re, you know, nice to look at sometimes after a long day.”

“Well, ain’t it a gift that you’ve got me to teach you about the stars. You’re a lucky, lucky boy.”

V sputtered a laugh. “That another area of your expertise other than shooting, you got maps of the heavens in your library too?”

Panam stood up, before sinking once more into the sand as she laid back against the rock, eyes directed to the stars. V watched her in silence, her hand waving for him to join her down on the ground. He did so, slowly before he scooched over to her. He attempted to look in vaguely the same direction as her, however, he could never tell which systems were which. Every star (to V anyway) looked the same. Panam raised her hand to the sky, finger-pointing around a series of stars that went up, before taking a steep dive down.

“Right there, that is the Big Dipper. If you look to the left of it, you can usually see Arcturus. Oh, wait, can you see that flickering star to the right?”

“Panam, I can see a lot of flickering stars to the right,” V replied. “You gotta be specific with me like I’m five years old again.”

The female clan member grabbed V’s hand, mirroring and latching onto his with her own, index finger outstretched as she guided them both to look at the largest flicking star in the sky. “That one, you see it?”

“Oh, damn, that is glowing like crazy.”

Panam smiled. “That must means Ursa Major leak!”

V stopped, turning to look at the girl sat beside him in the sand. Clad in brown leather jeans and a small grey vest, the small smile slowly turned into a widened grin as she could barely contain her laughter. V was stuck, looking at the star for a few moments as Panam continued to giggle wildly to herself. He took a moment and then realised why she was laughing. “I can’t believe you made yourself laugh, with some corny astrology joke.”

The giggling quickly turned to loud cries of laughter as she struggled to get up. V stood up, taking her by the hand as they slowly began to make their way down back to the camp. The bonfire grew larger as the night descended upon the camp, with Panam trying to stifle her laughs as some of the older and younger Aldecaldos tried to get to sleep. The two made their way to the fire, although Panam had continued on her way to her tent with her mother.

“Wait, Panam. You wanna, you know, sit with me by the fire?”

She smiled. “V… I’d…”

Before she could reply, V had already come to the foregone conclusion that she was gonna say no. He was either too much of a goon to be interesting to her or maybe she was taking pity on her childhood friend. “Nah, don’t worry, I won’t um, keep you from seeing your mom. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, I guess.”

V quickly scurried away from the fire, entering his tent. He hated himself, more and more he thought about how he’d let himself think too much about certain scenarios that he had no reason to think of. Panam was too kind, too good for him. She was smart, dedicated, beautiful and destined to be something more to the camp than he was. That, he had realised many years ago when he always let himself believe that perhaps Panam liked him more than a friend.

V knew that for him, he wanted to be more than that. He also knew that foolish ideas didn’t have a place in the clan.


	2. The Exile

**_2067 – The Mojave Desert_ **

It hadn’t been the first time that V had decided to join Panam on a solo run. He had occasionally offered to ride along with her as an extra gun on some smaller jobs since she’d started smuggling goods for the Aldecaldos. He might not have been the best shot (yet) but he knew that as the two young clan members ventured out into the Badlands, an extra hand was always going to be appreciated.

However, it had been the first time where a ride-along had gone terribly wrong.

The rally model of the Galena Rattler, had been torn to pieces. Glass windows smashed open, shards of glass on the dash, on the passengers and the flooring of the modified hatchback. Black smoke was fleeing from under the hood of the car. V had managed to keep the car running under fire when it broke down a few miles back, but only barely. Tools and tape could only fix so much when the damage was caused by explosions and bullets. Even the pair themselves were not safe and unharmed, Panam had been thrown around a lot by one of the larger Scavengers that had ambushed them. If anything, she had it a lot easier. She could still drive like a crazy woman, dodging and weaving in between the scavver cars that were still tailing them.

However, V was still clutching the wound on his gut. A stray bullet smacked him to the ground as soon as the ambush began. The trap was sprung, and as soon as one marksman pulled his rifle on Panam, V had pushed her out of the way and into the cover of some concrete roadblocks. It just so happened that in his attempt to stop her from being harmed, he took the bullet instead. It didn’t stop him from firing on the scavvers as they made their way to escape, but Panam was far too concerned with his own health when they needed to get out.

“Argh…” V groaned. “Jesus Christ, you gonna drive any faster?”

Panam growled. “Is that all you can say right now?”

A car roared next to the Aldecaldos, a sedan that was modified, steel plate welded to the sides of the vehicles, spikes attached to the roof and the rims of the tyres. The scavver vehicle veered nearer and nearer to Panam’s car, sand traps blasted dust over the field of view, obscuring any chance of getting a good shot at the opposing driver. V’s eyes opened and closed rapidly in succession, wandering down to the small holster on Panam’s chair. A Burya Heavy Revolver sat limp, and the revolver was soon heavy in V’s hand when he picked it up. He doubted he could have loaded the thing due to his lack of strength. Holding the gun sapped him enough.

Leaning the barrel of the revolver against the broken window, he waited. The pounding and roaring of the engines, the bump and screech of the suspension all resounded in his hearing as they tried to lose the six vehicles on their tail. Not one of them had decided to give up, even when they were leaving the expanse of land that was known for the large number of scavvers. The clan members had enough rough situations when it came to either getting rid of a particularly troubling group near the camp, even losing members of the clan to them.

V was not going to let that happen, to him or to Panam.

The small glimpse of the sun soon became visible, and Panam had already put her foot down to get out of the sand trap that was obscuring them. The two young Aldecaldos knew that as soon as they exited the trap, the bullets would start flying again, but it was going to be a risk they had to take if it meant possibly surviving and not being harvested for parts. They’d seen what scavvers did to people, whether they had cyber-ware on them or not.

The hatchback soon managed to get out of the sand trap and onto a flat desert plain. The gunshots soon echoed along the desert, some of them hitting the sand in front and behind the escaping Nomads. A series of bullets did smash into the structuring of the hatchback, pinging off but bending the steel structure. The spiked sedan soon rolled up again, close enough for the spikes on the rims to tear apart the wheels of Panam’s car. As soon as the sedan was riding right next to the car, V aimed at the open windows of the car, releasing the full six bullets into the sedan. Bullets ripped into the ruined internal leather of the opposing car, breaking through the glass, tearing through skin and muscle that stopped the car from destroying V and Panam.

As Panam drove off, V kept an eye on the wing mirror, watching as the armoured sedan was ploughed into by a small scavver truck, totalling both cars. Panam took the opportunity to burn some more rubber on the sand, speeding off as the pair set their sights on the plateau. V attempted to reload the revolver, finding three bullets to insert into the chambers. He attempted to lean out the window to fire upon the scavvers, but there was little chance with the gunshot wound in his gut.

“Fuck!” V shouted, blind-firing the revolver out the window, spraying and praying with very little chance of hitting something. “So much blood…”

“Keep your hand over it, V! Don’t let yourself bleed out in the car, we’re so close to getting home,” Panam shouted, grabbing a MaxDoc syringe and jamming it into V’s thigh. “Take it out in five seconds, and keep the pressure on your wound, V. We’re almost there.”

He could feel the warm liquid pooling in his hands, dribbling down his clothing and down his leg. He freed on hand, ripping the syringe out of his thigh before he threw it out the window. He soon placed both hands over the bleeding hole in his stomach, holding down on it tight before he started to feel his vision fading as the car got closer and closer to the plateau. His breath was heavy in his chest, V almost wheezing them out as he slumped further and further into his seat. The gunshot was taking him out of the fight, but the fight still remained outside. Panam had taken to more extreme manoeuvres to keep the cars away so she didn’t get shot, or so V definitely didn’t get shot again.

All they had gone for was some money, some spare parts that the clan didn’t need for some cash that they could use for food and water on the road. The damn scavvers had lured them into a deep den where they had to fight just get out and back to the car. She remembered still how she got pushed down to stop herself from being hit, but then remembered that as soon as she fell down, she saw V take the bullet ripping through him, flooring him before he slowly managed to crawl to her, blood trailing as he moved towards her and how he attempted to cover her first before he moved as they got to the car to escape.

Only for the scavvers to follow them to the camp. They didn’t know when to stop, they just wanted to rip and tear anyone apart for their own gain, whether it be helpless victims travelling from city to city or state to state, or themselves it meant more eddies.

“V, keep your eyes open!” Panam shouted, smacking him across the face. “We’re almost there!”

V was fading, and soon as his hands started to loosen and his vision faded from him.

“V!”  
-  
 ** _Later that Day…_**

V was sore.

It was the first thing he felt when he woke up. The relentless heat dampened by the tent he found himself lying in, bloodstained clothing removed for a set of baggy jogging trousers with bloody bandages wrapped around his stomach. His arms felt heavy and his eyes were buzzing, he could see the motion blur as he flickered from left to right, seeing that nobody was in the tent with him. A set of voices could be heard discussing what was going to be happening.

“You know that you put the clan in danger, even if you saved V, you put the rest of us in danger, which means the clan has to move again,” Saul stated. “I understand why you did it, but I cannot condone it. Not for you, for V, not for anyone.”

“Saul, come on. It was a mistake, but there was nowhere else for them to go!” That was McCall. “How was either of them meant to know that the Scavvers would have a den right in that area, not even we knew they had a massive hideout down there.”

Saul grumbled. “You know that ain’t the point, Jonah. I know you have V as your adoptive kid, but if this was anyone else with the clan in the same state, we’d be having this same discussion. You’d be on my side too if V wasn’t your kid!”

There were lilts of sadness, even tears, from somewhere else, almost drowned out by the argument between the two men of the clan. Saul had become the true leader of the Aldecaldos, and McCall was always referred to as one of many of the wise members of the clan. However, Saul had cracked down because apparently ‘it was in the interests of the clan’. That was what he had been hearing from McCall more and more each day. Trips to the nearest city or town were becoming more and more prohibited, limited to only those who smuggled or were explicitly needed on a ride out. They were losing many and gaining very little in return.

“That ain’t the point, Saul! Get your head out of your ass, they’re just kids still! Something was gonna go wrong sooner or later and we all knew it but we can make with what we got!” McCall shot back. “You ain’t gotta exile a kid because they made a mistake.”

The shadows leered over the fabric of the tent, with the shaggy-haired leader standing well over the old mechanic now. “We all know the rules, the safety of the clan comes before the safety of any sole member. V and Panam didn’t think of that before they brought the scavvers to our door.”

“Saul, stop being a hardass.”

The speaking grew duller and quieter as the shadows left. V attempted to push himself up, only for the pain to send him recoiling back to the pillows. He turned to his side, managing to throw his legs to the floor whereupon he managed to pull himself up to stand. The wound ached something fierce, his arms immediately falling to the wound as he struggled to move normally, soon finding his baseball bat at the side of his bed, using it as a makeshift cane. Taking a black tank-top, he struggled to throw it over himself before slowly venturing out into the sun. The sun was fading once again, and like every other day, the stars had already started to appear. V remembered the trip to Goodsprings with Panam and Maya, where the skies were the clearest that he had ever seen, whereas the pollution of the cities they had travelled around had managed to hide them away.

As soon as he left the tent, he felt a small force wrap itself around him. Caramel-coloured skin was hugging his arms and chest, managing to avoid his stomach despite the pain still being present. Panam had shivered as soon as she felt him, shaking and whimpering before V managed to place an arm on her shoulder. Tear tracks were visible under her eyes, the girl wiping them away as she looked up to the taller boy, who had managed to straighten himself up with help of his cane.

“I’m so sorry, V. I knew we shouldn’t have gone past the southern outpost for a small score, it’s my fault, honestly. I’m so sorry that you got hit, V. Please, forgive me.” Panam almost begged.

V managed a small laugh, as reluctant as it sounded. “Chill, Panam. Wasn’t your fault. Was mine, pushed you out of the way.”

“Not the point, V. It’s… damnit, Saul is on a warpath. Uncle Jonah tried to talk to him, but we lost four guys down on the main entrance for the plateau. The scavvers destroyed one of the towers and two cars got away. We have to move again.”

V sighed, as he began to move towards the main tent which Saul inhabited. “Great, lemme have a word with the ass.”

Panam stood in front of him, both of her hands pushing against his chest so he couldn’t move his weakened form forward. The bat was the one thing that managed to stop him falling over into the sand due to Panam being much stronger than he was at that moment. The more V looked at Panam, the more he knew that she would not be in such a state unless something really bad had happened since they got back. Death was a natural part of life, especially for the Nomads. They would bury their dead and move on, no closure, never to be seen again unless they returned to that area months, maybe even years later.

“No, V…” Panam begged him to stop. “He, he’s going to exile me. I brought the scavvers back, I got four guys killed. I have to go.”

“No.”

With the sole burst of strength that came from his chest, V pushed Panam to the sand and then managed to push himself to the centre of the camp. He might have been wounded, at least physically, but he had enough pride to stand up for himself whether he was weak or strong. He saw McCall stood in front of Saul’s tent, clearly still infuriated by Saul’s treatment of the camp since he became the official leader. As the mechanic became older, his words were valued more, whilst V’s work was what was needed by those in the camp.

“Goddamn, kid you need to be resting. You’ve been shot.” McCall ordered, standing in front of the tent. “You ain’t going inside there. I know you’re looking for a fight, and I’m telling you that it ain’t happening with Saul.”

“He’s not kicking us out, and if you won’t let me in to tell him that, I will make you move,” V growled, even in his wounded state. “Move, Jonah.”

“No, V. I’m doing this for your own good. I already argued everything you are gonna say, and Saul won’t listen to it a second time.”

V stood forward, stepping to his adoptive father. “I’m doing this for Panam, I won’t let her be exiled because of something that was my fault. If Saul doesn’t want to hear it, I can air it for the camp to hear if he wants.”

McCall himself, for as old as he had become, wasn’t going to back down. V might have become young and headstrong as he grew, but he lacked the wizened nature that most of the adult drifters had gained in their years of being a Nomad. The two men stared each other down, and whilst V might have been ready to throw down despite his wounds, McCall had vowed after he took V in that he would not harm a hair on his head. It wasn’t a secret to V either, in many times where they sat by the fire at night, he admitted that he was not V’s father. McCall would not hit him.

“You’re old enough to know that actions have consequences and I do not want you to go down that road. V, I promised that I would look after you. Let me do that, please.”

V shook his head. “I am not letting somebody take the hit for me, not when they don’t deserve it.”

“V, please. You’re like my son, do not do this to me.”

Once again, V shook his head and moved past McCall and into Saul’s tent. The tent was larger than the others, filled with miscellaneous items that probably meant more to Saul than they did to the rest of the camp. Keys, money, weapons and clothes, something that all Nomads had were scattered around the tent. Saul was stood on the other side of the tent, silently observing a map of Nevada before he noticed the heavy lumbering steps of the boy behind him.

V managed to step towards him slowly. “Ah, you’re awake. Good.”

“I’m not letting you exile, Panam. It’s not happening.” V demanded. “We made a mistake, but we didn’t know. That’s it.”

Saul folded his arms, looking at V with disinterest. “You don’t get to demand what happens in this camp and what doesn’t happen. You are a boy in a man’s world, watch what you say.”

“I’ll watch what I say when you stop treating me and Panam like fools. You don’t need to make an example, we all know what happens when we put the camp in danger, but we didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident.”

Saul turned away, the shaggy-haired leader stroking his beard before he focused on the map. “I don’t care. I have to bury four people, four families that need to grieve. She’s leaving. That’s final.”

“No.”

“V. Turn around and walk away.”

“Saul, I’m not leaving.”

The two men in the tent remained there for long enough for people to wonder why Saul had not arrived for the camp’s dinner. Saul turned to look at V, the boy had grown up rather well. Tall, bulky, rustled hair that was shaved on the sides with three braids over his left ear that still remained from his youth. The gruff leader remained unphased by the young upstart and instead leered over the young mechanic.

“Either Panam goes, or you do.”

“What?”

Saul laid out his idea. “One of you has to leave, you’re both equally responsible and now one of you has to leave. You or Panam. I know how this will roll, but you can go if you really feel that way. I will let you heal; we can give you a bike and some supplies to ride out, and that’s it. You don’t show your face here ever again. That’s it.”

“Deal.”

“You’re insane, kid. Any other person would let someone else leave if this was any other clan.”

V managed to straighten himself up to look at Saul dead in the eye. “I’ll be fine like you said. You’ve got people to look after, you’re leading the clan. I’m the exile.”  
 **-  
 _Three Days Later…_**

“V, please, don’t go!”

V ignored her calls, Panam’s calls. How he was steeling himself he didn’t know, how he managed to keep his composure when the fact was, he was leaving everything he ever knew, was unknown. He packed up his clothes, strapped his pistol to his hip and bought a rifle from the camp’s armourer. A black Brennan Apollo motorcycle with multiple hard cases at the sides of the wheels had supplies in, ammo, food, water for the trip.

“Panam, just stop. I’m doing this for you.” V said as he tightened his rifle strap. “It was either me or you, and it shouldn’t be you. Now just go, forget whatever this was, I wasn’t here. I’m not an Aldecaldo.”

Panam’s eyes were streaked with tears. “That’s not true! You were born here.”

“Tell that to Saul. He doesn’t care and now, nobody else will. Just, stay safe okay.”

That morning was brighter than usual, the bright skies at 9 AM were when everyone would start emerging from their tents. V took that as the time to be gone by unless Saul kicked him out on his ass personally. The gunshot wound still ached, but it didn’t matter. He’d fix it when he got the chance. Vegas was the nearest city, and V had intended to get most of the trip done that day. He needed to be gone.

Panam grabbed him by the arm, pulling him as he sat down on the motorcycle. She was clinging, and if V had to be honest, it was the worst he had ever seen her. With his free arm, he placed the key in the engine and turned on the cycle. Pulling his face scarf over his mouth and nose, his goggles over his eyes, V slowly slid his arm out of Panam’s grasp.

“Hey, just think of it like this. It’s not a goodbye, it’s a see you later.” V said, finally allowing himself to bring Panam into his grip, hugging her tight one last time. Panam quivered in his arms, shaking and breathing heavily before V let go. “Just think, Ursa Major.”

With that, V let go of the girl of his dreams, gripped the handles and kicked off, dirt and sand spraying everywhere as Panam stepped away, only to collapse in tears as she watched her best friend ride off into the desert, not knowing if she would ever see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick sequel to the prologue, next chapter we will have a massive time skip to Night City. Worldbuilding for V from 2067 to 2077 will be sprinkled throughout the following chapters. Thanks for the great opening reception, I appreciate it muchly.


	3. Dog-Eat-Dog

****_2077 – Classified Militech Operations HQ, Night City_  
-  
V stood in the middle of the operations centre, observing countless screens both physical and holographic that maintained a constant flow of information coming or going to the correct sources. Every iota of intelligence being sent to operators around the city, giving an affirmation or negation order to control the flow of the company, whether that be in business mergers, stock market trades or some outright illicit dealings behind closed boardroom doors. He observed every byte of data that flowed through that room, giving the yay or nay for actions that could affect Militech later on that week, or if he was unlucky, would have to deal with that day.

True power, the ability to change things with one word or one nod of the head, that was what V had been yearning for. The sole thing he had wanted for years on end.

In a world where everything seemed to be on the edge of failing or being turned into a failure every second, V specialised now in success. The Militech Cypher-9 Counterintelligence Unit was reserved for the most imminent and important decisions for the company, vetting every possible angle, choice or negotiating strategy that could make sure Militech remained on equal footing with the corporate entity’s rival companies, most importantly Arasaka.

Yet with the Kiroshi Advanced Optic Unit that impersonated his right eye, what he had kept directly at the forefront of his mind was the lack of effort and drive to succeed. One project that had not been deemed as worthy of his attention and was left in the cold. Displays soon brought up the files of all involved, as well as the profile of the woman given the job of retrieving the project’s secrets.

The Project: Flathead documentation had gone about as wrong as it could have when it didn’t go to V’s desk, so to speak. No, they gave it to Draven O’Connor, his superior who somehow managed to flop so hard that V was surprised that Upper Management never sent Killian Stroll from Comms to send him on his way after that debacle. What made it worse was that they didn’t even give V the job of reacquiring the prototype and technical documents which he knew he would have gotten back from the cyber-enhanced and metal-fucked maniacs that were the Maelstroms. How O’Connor managed to lose a classified drone to a gang of insane cyber-obsessives still baffled him, but that was neither here nor there.

He’d been told Meredith Stout had been placed on the job of retrieving the drone, and she had taken one of his own agents as a suspicious actor as to why there was little internal intelligence for her to go off. Gilchrist hadn’t been seen in a month, and Stout had said very little in response as to where he’d gone.

He scrunched his hand as he confirmed a couple more operations before passing his intel streams to the shackled AI to keep up. Leaving the centre of the room and viewing the six desks in front and behind the centre, a legion of data analysts pulling as much data to feed the AI machine. As he marched up the metal ramp to find O’Connor, he quickly sent a message to Stout in an attempt to flush out every single iota of info about the Flathead so he could do the damn job himself.

It appeared that everyone above him or equal to him was absolutely useless when it came down to the wire, and somehow that was no surprise to V in any way.

 _“STOUT: Meeting Room B5, five minutes”_ was the message that soon came through to his visor, soon to be swiped away as V approached O’Connor’s office that overlooked the data centre.

The forty-year-old corporate executive signed off some paperwork before V made himself known as he entered the man’s office. Decorated by silver and wooden décor spread around the office, the most obvious fake paintings placed on the walls around the office. O’Connor had made many attempts at hiding his age, and whilst age still wasn’t much of a manner to discriminate against, his augs were. Old and outdated, scarred, scratched and rusted by nothing but rain and self-help activities that made him devalue the two metal arms that he had placed heavily on his desk.

“Ah, V. Excellent, I have some new orders from Management. Something we should call, eh, need-to-know, yes?”

V sighed. “Don’t beat around the bush, Draven. What do you want now?”

Draven leant back in the synthetic leather seat; hands soon clasped together to rest his head. “We appear to have some internal issues with a scientist from our mainline Bio-Cyber Division. Stealing company secrets, but he’s been tracked down. We need a set of delicate hands.”

“Find somebody else, I’m busy. I need to speak to Stout, where is she right now?” V asked, gaining silence in response. “O’Connor, just ping me what you want and I’ll deal with it. Where’s Stout?”

“Comms Meeting, A9, down the corridor from here.”

“Good.”

V had soon turned foot and left, closing the office door just as O’Connor had attempted to ply off another job just as V began to leave. The walls of the corridor were immaculate, some of them presenting images of successful projects of drones, weapons, prosthetic limbs and various military victories. The walls themselves were almost glowing, a pale off-white paint which was merged with the black marble floor, so clean it was creating a pure reflection of V as he marched down to room A9. There was a group of more company press directors, alongside Meredith Stout who were discussing various strategies in order to promote the new Flathead drone for new contractors when the prototype was recovered. Once more, it seemed like the leaders of the press legions for Militech were all much older men and women, accompanied by their younger assistants who could comprehend every presentation strategy that would be drip-fed to the newsfeeds as soon as things all came to plan. The meeting of greying hair and wrinkles, the one member that wasn’t over sixty was Stout, and she stood stock still, listening silently before she was ripped from her headset and taken outside of the room.

“V! What on earth are you doing, are you insane? I was…”

V ignored her, his prosthetic arm wrapping around her wrist before dragging her into the nearest storage cupboard. Closing the door behind them, their optical systems both adjusted to night-vision. Meredith Stout glared at the younger male operator in front of her, and more so how augmented he had become since he had joined as a contractor and then been formally employed by Militech. They had given him a new life, a pure and incorruptible life that was better than ninety-nine of the population of Night City.

“Don’t care, Meredith. The Flathead, give me the project files, the op details and where the Maelstroms are holed up. Now.”

Meredith smirked. “Ah, I see. You want something else off me, this time? No foreplay, that’s rare from you, AH!”

Without a word, V grabbed Meredith by her long blonde hair, pulling her head before he took his personal jack-wire and plugged into her. She remained still as he scanned through her brain’s cyber-ware as he looked for every mention of the Flathead drone. As soon as he was done, he took his wire out and released her hair, allowing her to make herself look less ruffled and more like the professional she pretended to be in front of everyone else.

“One of these days, you’re gonna play that card on me and it won’t end well for you, V, at all.”

“Yeah, sure, empty words. Whatever you say to make yourself feel in control, Stout.”

Stout smirked, which V clearly saw. “You weren’t saying that last weekend. If I remember right…”

“No such thing as a fair game, Stout. Winners and losers, I’m sure you’ll do well to remember that when we’re at HQ. What we do outside of it, we can do then. Back to work.”

“Yes, sir.” Stout purred as they left the cupboard, she walked with a sway to her step, alluring as she was, V didn’t linger on her.

V was already half way out of the building, quickly sending a message to O’Connor about his task, which he was about to do. He’d kept himself sharp before he ever did a task like the one given. Corporate espionage was much more commonplace in Night City. In a city where major corps like Arasaka, Militech, Biotechnica, PetroChem and Kang Tao all vied for dominance, the white-collars were sure to get a little dirty every now and then. It just so happened that V’s speciality had become wet work. That was Cypher-9’s classified purpose after all, to find anything to put Militech on top, by any means necessary.

The former Nomad had soon left the building, exposed to cool winds of the California nights, a mix of natural weather as well as the manufactured cold air that lingered in downtown Night City. His car soon pulled up to the pathway, a metallic black Herrera Outlaw GT with black crystal shell windows to hide him away from the world when he needed to get around. V soon slipped into the passenger seat, allowing the auto-drive to take off onto the lightly-packed streets of the city whilst he placed in the address of the scientists. The data packet O’Connor had sent had placed him the rat’s nest that was Watson, the damn slums of all places.

V was sure to fit in, dressed in the most expensive of all-black suits in one of the best cars on the market that money could buy.

He contemplated his plan of attack as the car drove slowly along the road, V himself observing the skylines that were wrapped around the various skyscrapers of Night City, aerial cars and cargo ships lumbering between concrete colossus’ whilst large glowing holographic advertisements flickered on and off each skyscraper. Technology that could secure the soul, tech that could alter hormone balances and the like, all bullshit to make the corps a nice fat profit margin that V would gladly take a large cut of for his services. He could imagine that as soon as the scientist situation was done and dusted, he would go home, nurse a glass of bourbon before contemplating going out that night to Lizzie’s Bar.

If anything, the more he thought about going out the more he confirmed himself that he would do it that night. “Car, could you call Jackie Welles for me, please?”

_“Of course, Mister V. Calling Jackie Welles.”_

A small ringing tone began in the car, one that lingered on his ears before he was given the default tone that Jackie didn’t either have the time to answer or was already on a call at the time. The man was a living social congregation in his own right. He managed to be a part of every single community in Watson in one go, and if V was honest, he could see why. The guy was reliable for an ex-Valentino gangbanger, and for some odd reason, managed to somehow care about V as a friend.

_“Would you like to leave a message for Mister Welles, sir?”_

“Nah, I’ll call him later. Much longer?”

The car engine died down a little. “We are entering Watson now, sir. Approximate time of arrival is ten-oh-five in the evening.”

V nodded as the car entered the slums, men and women with shaky and uncared-for cybernetics, kids walking around their streets on their own. He’d been in Watson for a few seconds, and V already felt an unbearable, crushing sense of despair. He missed Corporate Plaza, and the sooner he left the slums, the better he would feel. He opened the arm rest to his right, lifting the leather and plastic whereupon he found his firearm. A CS Unity heavy pistol, with two magazines plus the one already loaded, made from black metal and with a personal mahogany wooden handle. He took the suppressor from the chamber in the arm rest, slowly sliding it onto the muzzle as the car stopped in the middle of an alley.

“We have arrived at your destination, Mr. V.”

V stepped out of the car, the dimmed lights of the apartment blocks and mega-buildings seemed to bring some source of light to the dark alley where V soon entered. Already, he could feel the stench of the streets begin to linger and infest in the fibres of his suit. He took his pistol and slid it into the holster under his arm, before he buttoned up his suit jacket and made his way to the location which happened to be some garage shed nearest to the front of the car. Activating his SCRAMBLE device, he had ensured that not one person would see his face if they ever discovered what happened that night.

V pinged O’Connor another message, confirming that the scientist would soon be dealt with, and approached the garage. The synthetic concrete felt soundproof, and V approached with an informal walk, huddling himself to preserve the warmth his suit still had. Approaching the door, he took the pistol from the holster and slowly opened the door. Light filtered from the garage and into the night, but was cut off once more when V snuck in before closing the door. Like any other garage, it looked like some dingy above-ground basement, but instead of storing some rusting piece of metal, it housed some semi-sophisticated computer systems running numbers and scenarios that V did not care about.

What he did care about, was the scientist sitting in front of him to his right, headphones over his ears, scrawling down numbers and equations whilst unaware of V’s presence. Approaching in silence, V aimed his pistol to the man’s spine, ripping the headphones away before the man placed his hands on his head.

“If you want money…”

“Be quiet, Doctor. You know why I am here. The documentation and what you stole from Militech, I’ll take it now.” V affirmed. “Don’t worry, you’re next of kin will be looked after. Everything will be given as an accident. I’m sure you understand.”

The scientist nodded, his eyeglasses shaking as he swallowed a sniffle. “It’s not Militech.”

“What do you mean?”

The scientist turned around; the movement allowed as V slowly pulled his pistol away. “It’s an Arasaka cyber-ware lock breaker. I modified it for Militech purposes, but I had to get the Militech resources illicitly from a fixer. There was no other way, the project director wouldn’t allow my research.”

V stowed his pistol away. “Show me, give it to me.”

“Please, follow me.”

The scientists quickly moved from his chair, leaving the mathematics to the side as he slid over to the nearby safe. Inputting an irregularly long passcode, the safe opened to reveal a hard case which, when opened revealed the small biochip in the plastic foam. One more piece of tech that V could use to ascend the corporate hierarchy and get rid of O’Connor and take the position as Head of Special Counterintelligence Operations.

“This here, is second to Arasaka’s Relic Biochips.” The scientist spoke, almost floundering over himself as he looked at the chip in awe. “It allows for corporate cyberware and bioware to be unlocked, used without oversight from any Corporation. Imagine what one person could do with such an ability, let alone a group of ten or more.”

V glowered at the man. “Why on earth would you do this? To sale for the highest bidder? You must have realised that screwing Arasaka and Militech wouldn’t have gone well at all for you.”

“Any chance to leave this city is a worthwhile one, as anyone else would say if they had to live here for more than a year.”

“Shame you won’t leave then.”

With one sentence, the scientist’s eyes widened immediately. V’s hand and pistol flew up, releasing a trio of bullets into the scientist, two in the shoulder with the final one landing right above the eyes. The scientist’s identification labelled him as Gideon Barrick, a leading Militech researcher who had tried to play the game like the rest of the corporate dogs and found himself sorely lacking in drive or ruthlessness.

He was no match for V, and a corpse in Night City was no special case. He took the biochip from the case, but just before he could place it in his pocket, his vision had scrambled horrendously. It provoked a headache, and soon he realised he was being watched by two cameras before he noticed that O’Connor was calling. V quickly answered the call.

“Ah, V. Wonderful. Is the situation dealt with?”

“O’Connor, what did you do, you scum-sucking piece of shit?”

“Nothing too serious, if you can play this properly, there won’t be an issue.” O’Connor replied. “The chip and the Flathead documentation, hand them to me outside and we can pretend tonight never happened.”

The call ended as V slid his pistol in his holster. He took a moment to decipher what the hell had happened. His SCRAMBLE system had ironically, been scrambled externally and V was certain that it was O’Connor. The parasite wanted the credit himself, no doubt for the same reasons as V. V couldn’t feel anything, his augs, cyberware and bioware was deactivated. The only way that could happen was that O’Connor had permission to get rid of V and take the Militech property back.

He'd been fucked, shafted from the start and left in the dirt. V had been so focused on getting his own back safe that he’d forgotten that O’Connor was too much of a snake to not realise that V’s rise would mean his fall. This just meant he could take all of V’s credit for getting the chip and regaining the Flathead prototype.

_Fuck…_

“Gorilla Hands, Mantis Blades, Monowire, anything?” V asked to nobody but himself. “Shit, nothing.”

That was when he felt his heart stop, and start, only to stop and start again. The blood-pump and microgenerator attached to his heart and synthetic lungs were feeling tight, and he soon dropped to his knees. “No, no, no…”

He suddenly felt an urge he hadn’t felt since he was a scummy little desert youth, some travelling piece of dirt on the road. Fear, disgust, shame. In the rush of emotions, he vomited on the floor and on the corpse of the scientist. Chunks of synthetic meat and a stream of alcohol splattered on the floor and on V’s shoes. He was losing again.

He refused to do that again.

“This fucking chip. Here, O’Connor, shove it up your ass.”

Panicked, V grabbed for the hard case and took the biochip out of it. The slot in the side of his head, behind his ear was empty. Taking the biochip, V slid it into the slot. For a few minutes, V had to think himself a way out if the chip didn’t work. Those moments, the place in his chest where his heart felt lighter than normal, where his lungs tightened before his heads-up display lightened up again, beginning a full system diagnostics exam before he felt his heart and lung augmentations kick back in. The titanium-enhanced bones stopped feeling too heavy in his own flesh and skin. Managing to pick himself up, he’d soon realised that his augs were fine once more.

The chip worked, he was alive still and he had a way out.

Walking out of the garage, he turned to see a large Militech SUV right behind his own car. O’Connor and two Militech guards behind him waited, the executive of Militech with an arrogant grin on his smug face. V approached, grimacing as O’Connor walked with his guards remaining by the car. The middle-aged man clapped as V dug his prosthetic fingers into his prosthetic palm, nearing V before holding his hand out.

“Shame it had to happen like this, V. You know how it goes, dog-eat-dog and all that good stuff, hey V?”

V nodded. “Yeah, dog eat dog alright.”

As soon as he spoke, V had spun O’Connor around and wrapped an arm around his neck, drawing his pistol and firing four shots into the guards in front of him, their bodies dropping to the floor immediately. With his final three bullets of the magazine, he emptied the magazine into O’Connor’s knees. The wounded corporate clutched at the bullet wounds, screaming aloud as V took a knee next to him.

“Sorry about this O’Connor, but you know it goes.” V said, a mirthful grin on his face. “Corporate work is a dog-eat-dog world, you know?”

“You’re fucked, V. Militech will know, you’ll be homeless in seconds. Poor, one of the rats.”

V smiled. “The apartment is a shame, but it’s a write-off. Shame they can’t get my accounts though, you’d like to make a beggar of me, wouldn’t you Draven? This chip is a miracle tool, and you? You’re my immediate notice. Consider what I’m about to do to you a professional courtesy. I’ll see you in hell, you fucking worm.”

O’Connor was forty, and whilst that was a good age to be in Night City, it definitely didn’t make sense for a man like him to be Watson. An old corporate employee with rental guards and no weapon himself was asking to be robbed. Wrapping his hand around O’Connor’s throat, V savoured the feeling of revenge quickly before the prosthetic skin on his hands shifted, exposing the experimental Gorilla Hands augment as V felt the robotic hands squeeze and snap O’Connor’s neck. The synthetic skin soon folded over his hands once more, covering the cyberware before V straightened out his suit.

Opening his car, V sat in the driver’s seat and closed the door. Soon speeding down the streets, V found himself parked in an alley just over the road from Lizzie’s Bar. Calling Jackie once more, he waited for a few seconds before his friend finally answered.

“V! _Mi hermano,_ how you been choom?”

“All good, Jackie.” V sighed. “You fancy coming for a drink at Lizzie’s, I need a favour.”

Jackie laughed. “You? Need a favour from me? Oh, _hijo_ don’t worry, I’ll be there in a minute. Lemme drop Misty off and I’ll be right there.”

“Cool, man, I’ll talk to the Moxes and get us a table. I’ll see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might not be what you expected, but Nomad V and Corpo V are definitely not the same. As I said, there will be some world-building as to why V is so aggressive, but it's a product of seven years of unfettered violence that got V as one of Militech's top enforcers and being passed over has finally cracked him open like an egg. Is he a cyberpsycho, no, is he a heavily armed corporate warrior with a grudge and a yearning for freedom? Most definitely.
> 
> Until next time!  
> -TheApolloSinner


	4. In the Heights

**_04/08/2077  
Lizzie’s Bar, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**It had taken one short drive out of the alley that V had left the life of a corporate slave behind, or at least that was what he told himself the more he thought about what he had done to O’Connor and his two security goons. His suit felt heavy on his shoulders, and as soon as V had parked up across from Lizzie’s he had finally realised that he could never go back to Militech in his lifetime.

He sat in the seat of his car, sinking into the black heated leather, the neon teal under-glow and interior lights mixed with the bright pink of the bar behind him. He emptied his pistol of its empty magazine, before taking the gun, silencer and spare mags and placing them back into the slots of the armrest. Shrugging off his suit jacket, loosening his tie and removing his plastic work entry pass, he finally managed to get out of the car before throwing the card to the floor.

He was deep in Watson, a place that the normal, corporate V would never be caught dead or alive. Then again, it seemed that being a renegade cyber-suit meant that sometimes the rules V had set for himself were just meant to be broken.

He approached the front door, skipping the queue which garnered a variety of bewildered reactions. It was on his approach that the bouncers made themselves known to the rogue Corpo, one black woman with a head of pink dreadlocks, the other a petite white woman with chromed-out legs, an aluminium bat and a bright blue mohawk to boot. Both of them, scantily clad in such a way that anyone would have thought they were sex workers. V was smart enough not to try such a thing. Watson being the shit-hole that it was meant there was a crime aplenty and not just violent crime. Dealers, joy-dolls and extortion were common, and the bouncers at Lizzie’s were known as the Moxes. Ladies of the night who defended their own, and defended it well since nobody dared attack a joy-doll in the crime-ridden district of Night City.

“Seems trouble wants in,” the blue-haired swinger stated as V rocked up in front of the door. “You got something for me, big guy?”

V cocked his head. “Look, I’m not here for any trouble. Just meeting a friend for some business, you read?”

The weapon-bearer nodded, throwing the baseball bat over her shoulder. “Good to hear, welcome to Lizzie’s. I’m pretty sure you know the rules.”

“Been here before plenty of times, I got it.”

“Then enjoy, honey, go on in.”

V nodded. “Thanks.”

Like any other decent club or bar in Night City, the lack of proper lighting was only replaced with glaring neon pinks, yellows, reds as well as a litany of other colours. Blue and pink were once again the most common colours, weaponised by the gang that owned the establishment and ruled it with a tight grip. The hallways were clean, yet almost as dark as the night sky outside as V walked through them until he came to the main room. A two-storied building with smoke-emitters made the place feel even more mysterious than the place had any right to be. The smoke lingered around the floor, concealing people’s lower bodies as V took note of the general structure.

The bar in the upper right-hand side of the place, a staircase behind it that linked up to another bar for the second floor. A seating arrangement from the left that linked all the way from one end of the building to the next, seats filled and occupied with drinks and BD-visors on their heads, or a drink with a joy-doll on their lap, whispering sweet nothings in their ears to make a few extra euro-dollars.

The dancefloor glowed a bright white, even when it was hidden away from V due to the smoke. A small group of people dancing, not giving a care in the world about whatever their awful situation might be involved in, or just ignoring what a god-awful city they lived in. Night City had a way of luring everyone in, and not letting them go, especially considering it somehow managed to keep its mystical allure despite being voted as the worst place to live in all of America.

V looked over to the booths, soon finding the large and bulky figure of Jackie lounging on the middle booth on his own, sipping away at a dark brown liquid in a fine, probably plastic ‘glass’ whilst waiting for V to make himself known. Swiftly carving his way through the streams of people moving around, V stepped to the middle booth whereupon Jackie finished his subsequent sip and leapt up to meet his friend. A strong clasp of hands between the two men led to them sitting down, with V ordering a double rum and NiCola to tide him over as he relaxed in the booth.

“So, how you been, homes?” Jackie asked, slouching more as he downed the rest of his drink. “You finally figured out that leaving Corpo Plaza was the best decision in your life, come on, tell Uncle Jackie what’s been up?”

V reached for his words, looking at the cyberware that was engrained into Jackie’s face, much like his own optical firmware. Dark grey wires soldered into the face, stretching down around his cheeks and to his neck. The small island of hair at the forefront of his scalp, separated by a zero-grade where behind was a small patch of thicker hair that had been forced into a large hair-bun. His questionable choice of clothing meant nothing, the large bubble interference jacket, the golden chains and wristbands from his days with the Valentino gang looked out of place considered V was still dressed as an office worker.

“I have tendered my resignation to Militech’s Special Cyberware Division, let’s say,” V mentioned, his drink soon arriving where V took a few polite sips. “And I need to lie low, for now, I may have taken some insurance which is why I need your help.”

Jackie’s eyes widened, leaning up. “Shit, choom, you trying to hawk some of that good shit on the side, _es no problemo amigo._ When you need it gone?”

“No, Jackie. The shit I stole is the Corpo stuff they gave me when I got employed there. Augs, black-ops shit, classified experimental bioware. The kinda shit that’ll get me dissected if they ever find me.”

“Fuuuuuck, homes. You fucked up bad, huh?”

“Took a risk, forgot the consequences and I landed flat on my ass, man. I got rid of the guy who jacked my spot though. I need a place to stay for a few weeks, just so I can hunker down until they realise, they got bigger problems.”

Jackie rubbed his hands over his chin, scruffling his small stubble before he himself ordered a new drink. “I think I can keep you with me for the month until we can find you another a place without having to worry about the MT looking to kill your ass. You going back to Corpo Plaza?”

V shook his head. “No fuckin’ way, man. I gotta carve a path, you know?”

“Oh, look choom, you know with my charm and your muscle, we can throw ourselves to the top of the food chain, you know? Mercs ain’t exactly outlawed in Night City.”

V took Jackie’s words in. Mercenary work was nothing uncommon to V, having spent three years in the NUSA Military and then zipping straight to Militech Contracting gave him plenty of merc experience. It gave him world experience, allowed him to travel to Europe and still end up sucked back into the cold, crushing embrace of Night City. He’d heard of the infamous underworld; it was a necessity in corporate life. You could never look dirty in the eyes of the corps, so getting somebody else to do the dirty work was the best way of getting ahead in the dog-eat-dog world they lived in. V did it himself, it was the one way he knew something could be done properly.

(O’Connor was a rash, emotional and impulsive moment that V had managed to figure out how to regret it. Only for a few seconds, hearing the crackling of bones in the man’s neck felt too satisfying for it to ever be regretful.)

“I’ll think about it. I might just leave this place, you get me? En-Cee isn’t the best place to live right now, I just want some fuckin’ peace, you know?”

“No chance, _amigo.”_ Jackie’s eyes widened. “You gotta stay with us choomba, leaving is not an option. You can still make a good living even if you got the corps on your ass, besides, Militech got bigger fish to fry. No offence.”

Jackie’s quickly ordered a set of shots for himself and V, swiftly knocking back a drink and ordering the next. V had just managed to finish his first, and Jackie was slowly getting more and more inebriated as the night continued and as the two conversed. Apparently, shots seemed like a good idea, because V remembered chugging the next five rounds with Jackie, cheering loudly before running to the dancefloor.

The night had gone on for far longer than V and Jackie had expected it to go, drinking one tequila sunrise each before finding the way out of Lizzie’s Bar. V was too sauced to drive and he wasn’t stupid enough to allow Jackie to go near the driving seat of the car. Auto-Drive never stopped anyone from driving while drunk, but it never stopped a good old-fashioned crash either. The hypercar that V owned was given the details of Jackie’s mother’s place. The car managed to slowly drive around the district, taking in the geo-details for the auto-drive before they parked up in an estate alongside a couple of old clangers that looked like they were about to fall apart as soon as the driver’s got in.

Gang signs, graffiti was all trussed up and sprayed on any surface that they could find. Valentino iconography was the most common, images and ideas from Mexican culture that was brought over to California after the wars in Mexico. They could have been much worse, but they were no more criminal than the Animals, Voodoo Boys, Maelstroms or the 6th Street Gangers. As the two men managed to escape the confines of the car, the two of them clung to each other in lockstep as they made their way to the nearest apartment block. Blundering through the door and into the main building, Jackie and V managed to crawl up the stairs until they reached the fourth floor of the block.

Jackie knocked on the door, louder than he intended before it opened suddenly, the two men falling flat on their faces as a greying woman looked down on them. Jackie had tried to pick himself up, before realising that the floor was quite nice and cold for him to consider sleeping on it. V had rolled over on the floor to his back, sighing loudly before giggling loudly to himself. The way the roof was made seemed to make squiggly lines that somehow only a drunk V could ever make sense of.

 _“Madre de dios,_ Jackie what the hell have you and V been up to?”

V giggled again. “ _Hola,_ Mama Welles.”

Jackie groaned, trying to slide along the floor before he made contact to the wall, albeit with his shoulder. “Just, you know, a few drinks and now we might need a little siesta, _comprende?”_

The woman seemed to have a similar dress sense to Jackie, although in her older and much more mature age, she was dressed in some black bedclothes, sitting at her couch with a glass of wine. Well, she was before V and Jackie had managed to fall into her home.

“You’ll _comprende_ me dragging you to your room by the ear, Jackie Welles. How old are you, you too V, you too are acting like children again,” Mama Welles stated. “Clearly neither of you can handle your drink very well, hmm?”

V managed a groan before he crawled to his knees. “Just some beers, and a couple tequilas. Ain’t too bad, right?”

“Jesus, pair of lightweights. V, you’re on the couch when you make it.” Mama Welles then turned to Jackie, a cold look in her eye, yet V could still see the care in her eyes as she looked at her only child. “Jackie, you know where your bedroom is. Goodnight, you pair of morons.”  
 **-  
 _25/08/2077  
Jig-Jig Street, Westbrook District  
Night City, California  
V_  
-  
**After a good two weeks of hiding with the Welles’ family, V had finally taken the opportunity to start working with Jackie as a mercenary for the various fixers in Night City. They might not have been big fish, but they weren’t exactly small either. They required a certain touch, an example was Wakako Okada, an old lady with large reading glasses who had emigrated from Japan in her thirties and was notable for having many divorced husbands who would occasionally go missing. She ran a little pachinko parlour on Jig-Jig Street, which for Night City might well have been the closest thing to a true red-light district. Joy-dolls were aplenty, and whilst V had occasionally been given the opportunity to take one of the ladies for a spin, he never really felt the need too.

Father Sebastian Ibarra was the other fixer that Jackie and V would do a lot of work for. A priest who had ushered in a quaint era of ‘peace’ for his neighbourhood commanded respect from a lot of old-timers and even some young guns around Watson and Westbrook. A true man of the cloth, V and Jackie had been witness to many of his sermons, and the way he sent them jobs was in the form of pinged messages with quotes from the Bible. An old man, balding, wrinkling with a large grey moustache and even larger piece of cyberware that covered a missing ear. V had seen the tattoos, and he knew that no real man of the cloth would wear his ink openly unless he had a real reason too. Jackie knew the meanings; Jackie had told him and V had asked precious little since.

As V left the pachinko parlour, the glittering lights, sex-crazed population of the street and pounding music soon came to assault V’s ears. The two shards he carried in the pocket of his sleeveless denim jacket contained the money from saving a certain Miss Dorsett from being scavenged for parts by the scavvers that malingered in the city. Visions of skin and muscle torn apart to rip away the cyberware attached to spinal cords, eyes plucked out, hearts and lungs mulched for the wiring and generators attached.

It made V feel queasy, and the fact that Miss Dorsett had been given a neuro-worm virus for her brain’s CPU now meant V had one too. Not something that could be fixed with a system reboot, but V wasn’t a ripperdoc. He wasn’t about to start fiddling with his own augs to make himself worse for wear.

He quickly pinged Misty a call, who soon answered.

“Hey, V!” she exclaimed. “You looking for Jackie, pretty sure he’s home.”

“Sup, Misty. No, I was wondering if Vic’s got space for a small appointment. Think I got a virus after the last job, my HUD is all screwy and it ain’t good.”

“No problem, V! Ah, Victor said you can pop in whenever you’re ready, just come into the Esoterica and go through, kay?”

“Thanks, Misty. Be seeing you.”

V had taken to Misty quite nicely, although not as nicely as Jackie had done. The charming ex-Valentino member had been smitten as soon as he’d set eyes on Misty Olszewski, the occult-enthusiast who could read chakras and perform tarot readings for whoever wanted to connect with their spiritual side, as rare as that was to find in Night City. He’d hailed a cab as soon as he got out of the red-light and as soon as he transferred the cash to the computer, he was back on the way to Watson. The alley behind Kennedy Street allowed for Misty to keep her own little occult store open whilst acting as a front for Victor Vector’s ripperdoc surgery.

V got out of the cab before making his way to the Esoterica. As soon as he walked in, the reception was empty until he found Jackie relaxing in one of the vibration chairs in a small alcove of the room. Misty was kneeling right next the chair, her hands pressed tight against Jackie’s firm chest, slowly rubbing gently around where his heart was, Jackie’s eyes closed lightly as V walked past. V didn’t say a word, just nodding to Misty as he walked through esoterica. Jackie and Misty did have a nice thing going, V had to admit, it was cute for somebody who could be as dangerous as Jackie could actually melt away into a tabby cat when with Misty.

Misty wasn’t exactly a traditional woman who would stay in Night City. She was a clever girl who could stand behind the counter of the esoterica but also work as a nurse for Vic. An explosive mane of dark blonde hair that flopped over her ears and forehead, makeup that made her look paler than she actually was, the dark eyeshadow and lipstick accompanied with the spiked choker and a dark purple dress.

Soon, V stepped into the dark basement where Vic had set up his surgery. It might not have looked clean, but V knew that Vic was able to get a hold of some devices and augs that a lot of others couldn’t. Of course, the tatted-up, spectacle-wearing surgeon didn’t work for free, but a system reboot wasn’t too costly for V. As V stepped in, he could see Vic brushing some dust off his desk as he watched Bushido V, before he tinkered with his wrist surgery device.

“Hey, Vic. How you been?”

Vic looked up, to see V standing in the entry. “Ah, V, come on in. I’ve been good, kid. You know, same old same old. What’s the matter?”

“Uh, I told Misty I think my system might need a reboot, you know, neuro-virus is fuckin with my optics.”

Vic nodded, shifting his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before he brought his stool closer to the operating chair. In his past few visits to keep his cyberware up to scratch, Victor had liked to talk as he operated, always mentioning is fights when he was a young boxing up-and-comer. He’d known Jackie when he was younger man, training him as a boxer before he joined the Valentinos. Taking his stethoscope from around the neck of his blue shirt, he placed the cold metal against V’s chest before taking it away.

“That microgenerator I had a look at a few weeks back, it all good?”

“Yeah, doc. Working like a dream.”

Vic nodded. “That’s great. Look, I know that you ain’t like Adam Smasher, but what Militech did for you, you’re probably one of the most cybernetically-enhanced mercs I have ever had to look at. I gotta be careful, cyberpsychosis is a real risk for you if you ain’t careful.”

V nodded in silence. He knew what he had done in order to climb the success ladder when he was at Militech, it was a necessary risk. Have the finest clothes, the cars, the guns, the gadgets, the women. If being successful in a corporation meant sacrificing flesh and bone, V had traded his success and will to win for the many pounds of flesh he’d given away or computerised.

“Seriously kid, I mean. Titanium-laced bones, Kiroshi visor, microgenerators, synthetic lungs, the arms, I mean. You’re a walking weapon, V. What the hell are you gonna do with all that shit, gorilla hands, monowires, mantis blades. How did you agree to it?”

“Militech offered me the role of leader of their cyberwarfare division, I got their top-shelf line. I’d rather not talk about the days in the corp, Vic.”

“Of course, kid. No problem. You looking for anything else, or you wanna get some shut-eye now?”

V shook his head, before taking his seat in the operating chair. “Just turn me off and let’s get it done, huh, Vic?”

“Roger that, V.”

Vic took a needle from one of his sanitised draws, before placing an IV into V’s wrist before he jacked V into the nearby machinery. As soon as V’s wires connected, V felt himself go to sleep. After three years in the military, and seven in Militech, it was odd that the one thought he had before he went to sleep, was looking at the stars in the skies of Nevada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might seem a little short, and I did slim down the prologue for now. I do have an idea for how to show some side quests, but I need to get the prologue out first so we can get to the good stuff that we know we want to see like the pairing. For now, have Jackie and V being drunk, and V letting Misty and Jackie be cute and stuff.
> 
> -TheApolloSinner


	5. Children of Night City

**_25/08/2077  
Misty’s Esoterica and Viktor’s Ripperdoc Surgery, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
** _‘Fresh air, sand, the smell of burning rubber and spent engine oil._

_The sun scorching on V’s back._

_The familiar faces and voices of those who raised him echoed, deep in his memory where he had placed them._

_Night City had taken them away, replaced them._

_The Badlands, cacti and dirt-ridden trails with tracks were replaced with condensed neighbourhoods filled with innocent souls or gangbangers looking to make their way on the rise to the top. Those too poor to keep along sold themselves for whatever they could get, the kindness and familial nature of the Nomads replaced with the corpo way-of-life._

_Advertisements, laced with greed and vice, using the tools of lust and avarice to sell whatever corporations needed to get rid of so their bottom line could look better in the next hour._

_Then he was thrown back once more, ripped from one world to the next._

_The faces of Meredith Stout, Draven O’Connor and faceless corpos backstabbing and parleying were shifting, fading, falling to black as V crawled through his memories once more to what he could remember fondly._

_He was seventeen again, standing proudly at the summit of a rocky mountain ridge in the middle of Utah, the warm glow of the sun fell over his bare skin as he had woken early in the morning. The light breeze as he stood bathing in the light against his arms, the rare screeches and squarks of the birds resounding in his ears, a singing he had gotten used to but had never taken the time to really take in._

_Birdsong was replaced with the guitar tunes he would play at the campfire, stray times where V would occasionally sing something, he had managed to learn well enough. Times where when he was silly enough to believe that he would have ever been anything more than…_

_A rat, scampering in the sand, looking for a meaning that it would never find._

_How easily the rules of the Nomad had been forgotten by him as soon as he left, the real rules of a new life meant learning to fend for himself. Do not trust willingly, prepare a bullet for whoever’s at your side…_

_Do not forgive._

_Do not forget._

_Those nights at the camp were broken, shattered away into a million pieces like they should have been. V was older now; he knew better than to think that those memories ever served a purpose other than showing him that leaving was the best decision he had ever made. Nights in clubs with his ‘compatriots’ at Militech, each of them either drinking to relax before planning another backstab or just trying to fit in so nobody ever suspected them._

_Nights with Meredith, where something that he thought would be fulfilling and enjoyable was nought but hollow and empty physical activities that were swiftly forgotten in the morning. Either he would leave early or she would, actions never spoken about until they required something from the other. A mindless fuck continued when one of them did a favour at the office for the other._

_Nobody ever asked about the bruises on his neck or under his chin, the deep red scratches that refused to fade away on synthetic skin that covered his cyberware surgeries. The revenge he would revel and be lavished in whenever he would get the chance to dominate her._

_The thoughts of an evil, despicable man would wash away as V woke up, with only one name on his mind as he woke._

_Panam.’  
_ **-  
** V’s eyes fluttered a little, bright light and wooziness flooding his senses as he tried to immediately pick himself up from the surgical chair. He’d been subject to system reset before, being unable to feel anything in his arms or legs after Militech forged him into a new machine, the weight of the titanium in his bones or the heaviness of the microgenerator bolted to his heart. Even though he was sat in a dingy basement with a professional ripperdoc, he felt only a slight amount safer than he did in the classified labs of Militech.

“Ugh, Doc?” V managed to say, his voice hoarse and dry. “Where you at?”

“Right here, V. Take it slow.”

V flip-flopped on whether to laugh or not. “You know I can’t do that, ain’t my speed, Vik.”

The old ripperdoc didn’t reply with a smarmy comeback or a cutting remark as he usually did, only a stern look that V knew was to be taken seriously. Pulling himself up slowly, V managed to set himself up before getting his legs to the floor. He was still wearing the clothes he came in, privacy remaining somewhat intact. Ripped black denim jeans and the sleeveless denim jacket, over a pair of Chelsea boots and a white cotton long-sleeve. Nearby tech stands beeped and bopped, connected to his stats before managed to remove his jack-wire from the main machine. Standing again, a dull thud entered V’s head.

“System reboot effects usually last a day, that headache is probably gonna die down in three hours with some meds. Any ocular glitches or diagnostics should be ironed out after twenty-four hours.” Vik added, before handing V a mirror. “Just to give a little heads-up, noticed a tracker in your former Kiroshi visor.”

V sighed. “Militech leftovers, I’m guessing?”

“Yep. Took it out while you were out, replaced it with a new one. Eye colour ain’t gonna match though, sorry, kid. Ran out of blues. Hope hazel ain’t too bad.”

V held the mirror in front of him. The eyes did indeed not match up, not looking like he had heterochromia but more like he just had a mixed set of eyeballs. The small red Infolink data was visible in the visor, where there was none in his right eye. The cyberware under his eyes glinted in the mirror, slim lines of silver metal and black falling to the side of his head before ending at his ears. Black hair that used to be long and braided, cut short on the sides and back whilst remaining clipped and spiky on the top, a bushy beard that almost managed to hide the black hawk tattoo on his neck.

“How much I owe ya?”

“Not a single eddie, V. Know you well enough that you got credit with me.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Vik, lemme pay you now. How much?”

Vik shakes his head before he slides over on his stool back to his desk. “Twenty-one kay. Kiroshi visors ain’t cheap.”

V took the shard he got from Wakako and handed it to Viktor, who received it reluctantly. The ripperdoc slapped the payment shard next to his computer as V brushed himself off and began to stretch himself out of his wooziness. The doctor didn’t say much, merely giving the occasional look towards the shard before he turned on another movie for his computer screen. His wrist surgery attachment still latched on to his hand.

“You didn’t have to do that kid; you know I would let you have it for free anyway. You already done so much for me, you and Jackie both.”

V had to chuckle. “I ain’t about to take the eddies to my grave Vik. Besides, consider it a thank you for all the work you’ve done on me without having a single eddy to show for it. I, damn, I appreciate it a lot, man.”

The old surgeon grimaced. “Hey, that’s what friends are for. Before I forget, I think that Jackie has a new fish on the hook for you to try.”

“That his way of saying he’s got a good job?”

Vik shrugged. “I don’t know, kid. All I do know is that when you need something fixed, you come to me. Go on, don’t let me keep you down here all day.”

“Okay, Vik. I’ll see you around.”

V soon managed to slowly crawl out of Vik’s surgery, up the alley whereupon he managed to reach the door to Misty’s Esoterica where Jackie and Misty were too busy flirting to notice the pale visage of V returning from the surgery. Soon regaining some semblance of composure, V straightened himself up before Misty made her way to her little receptionist booth before Jackie marched right over to V, an arm sliding over his shoulder before they moved to the doorway of the esoterica, exiting to the street. Jackie’s cheeks, lined with silver wiring were slightly flushed red, V taking note of this when he slid out of Jackie’s hold, leering through the doorway at Misty, a small little smile on her face as he waved at V before he waved back, soon leaning back to Jackie.

“Hey, you feeling better now, mano?” Jackie asked, arms crossed over his brown jacket. “Still looking a little pale.”

V nodded. “Vik said you got something for me.”

“Oh shit, did he say anything?”

For someone noticeably larger than most, Jackie definitely had a personality that was larger than most. An excitable street kid who was determined to make his way in the rat maze that was Night City. To become a legendary mercenary or even a fixer amidst the likes of Rogue Amendiares or the rockerboys Johnny Silverhand and Kenny Eurodyne. If that meant slogging through the mud and guts of scavvers and gangoons in the gutters of the worst city in America, he’d do it for as long as he needed to until he got what he wanted.

V had his own reasons for joining Jackie, mostly because Jackie himself had been too good of a friend to V to let the man do what most people would consider suicidal. Their first contract was a mess, for both of them for different reasons. Mr. Hands, their fixer hadn’t even paid them for how much of a mess it was. Then again, making a mess in Pacifica was like asking if a bear shit in the woods. A dispute with the Voodoo Boys almost had Jackie get his spine broken by some massive cybered-out-the-ass black guy who almost ripped V’s head from his shoulders before they managed to skip the district with the help of some Valentino gangers that Jackie still had on his net.

The ex-corpo needed his rise again, leaving the corporate world with the explosive exit that he did via murdering his boss just meant he needed to rise up the ranks another way. He’d already gone and told the corps to go fuck themselves in protest, now it meant that rising required other skills than an unofficial degree in backstabbing and corporate espionage. He actually now had to deal with street-rats and psychopaths.

The thought made him consider placing the barrel of his Nue light pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger, before he realised that dying was the last thing he had ever needed to consider thinking about in any way.

“Nah, just said you had something.”

“Right, listen. I got some buddies talking around, and I got a job with the Dexter De-fucking-Shawn!”

V’s eyes widened. “Dexter DeShawn? The fixer who left like, what, two years ago? Are you serious? How the hell did you get that?”

“I put in a few good words around the Afterlife.” Jackie smirked. “And I got a meeting with Dex, said he was looking for people he could trust could do a job right, and get it done properly. I said, well, me and a good buddy of mine are extremely reliable and trustworthy. He took me at my fucking word, _hermano!_ ”

“We got a job with fucking Dex DeShawn?”

“Yes, bro!”

V was almost shaking, in all honesty. Legendary fixers taking notice of well-known mercs was almost slim to none, mainly because of the luck of the mercenaries. Some fixers, mostly small-time guys, had a bad habit of getting rid of gonk mercs when the job was done. Of course, Okada and Father Ibarra were large enough to have reputation to keep and V knew that Jackie and himself were smart enough not to shaft the fixer over their own principles or greed.

Jackie once again took a hard grip of his friend. “Look, all he wants to do before we do the job is to give you a brief. Some prep details that we need to get done before we begin. He’s waiting down the main path where you got your cab, just past there. He wants to meet personally.”

“Right now?”

“Like, right now.”

“Holy shit, Jackie, we’re on the way up.”

“I know, man. Look, go to see the guy. He wants to get a read on you, the black Jefferson Thrax Three-Eight-Eight, you can’t miss it.”

V nodded, patting Jackie on the shoulders before he made his way up the street as Jackie entered back into the esoterica. The fact that somehow Jackie had gotten into Afterlife was a masterful feat in itself. Afterlife had a specific clientele, men and women and everything in-between that had a good enough rep that garnered them entry past Emmerick, the well-known bouncer who had never let a random street-rat, nomad or corpo-rat through the doors without Rogue or any other well-known fixer’s say-so. V, whilst having a rep in the corporate central business district, had very little cred in the streets.

Two and a half weeks of hiding from Militech’s death squads didn’t leave much time for V to lay down the groundwork for becoming well-known until Jackie and himself took the chance to work for Okada and Ibarra. Jackie’s half-way connections got V further than he ever would have gotten himself on his own in less time, and the two soon had become known for doing a job right. A fixer’s word went a lot further than anyone else’s.

Not that it mattered much more than anyone else’s, not if they were still gonna put a bullet in your back at the end of the day.

V walked up the street, passing bystanders going about their day as the ants they were. Nobody mattered in Night City, and if you did, you didn’t want to meander in the streets with common trash. To anyone with a brain, he was dangerous, to the regular citizens, he was just another one of them. Decked out in synth-skin-covered, black-ops-level chrome with a nasty look to boot. All that mattered was that people stayed out of his way when he needed them to. As he got to the end of the street, he noticed a large man, dressed finely in black leather with black augs that covered his eyes. Spotting V, the man subtly waved him across the street whereupon V approached. Wordlessly, the man opened the car door, interior lights turned off as he ushered the mercenary inside the vehicle.

Sitting down, V was greeted by the cool leather seats and the air-conditioning system as the usher soon returned to his driving seat. As soon as his door closed, the interior lights turned on, revealing a large, obese black man in black trousers and an orange vest. Bald, but with dreads at the back and side accompanied by a massive beard that covered many chins with a golden prosthesis for a right hand. A cigar was lit in his mouth, the smoke almost a suffocating, dense fog that V had to waft away for a moment.

“So, Jackie tells me that you are the accomplished Mr. V. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He droned out between puffs of his cigar.

V nodded. “Dexter DeShawn, in the flesh. Ample indeed, is what I heard. Glad to see the rumours are true.”

The infamous fixer gave a low-grumbling chuckle before he leant to his driver. “Let’s roll.”

The driver started the car up, the vehicle rolling out of the shadow of the mega-buildings that surrounded it as it joined a traffic stream, taking the trio down a long road that trundled all around the docks, the occasional left and right turn to deviate from the course, just in case they were being tailed. V suspected a man like Dex knew the game well enough that some people would want his head on a silver platter, any real fixer worth his salt knew that taking one of them down meant there was a power vacuum. A large man like Dex would leave a large vacuum, no doubt about it.

“Imma put it to you straight, Mr. V. I got myself scannin’ a serious job right now, much more than just smashing up some scavver haunt for the old crone Wakako. Gargantuan-scale, and I am sure glad that Jackie recommended you. However, I need to be sure about you.”

V took a look out the window, looking at the traffic. “Let me guess, you want to test me, something to make sure I got the skills for the work or something, right?”

“I’m sure you can prove your worth when I give you the brief and prep, but for now I got a question.”

“Ask away, Mr. DeShawn.”

Dex took a large huff from his cigar. “Would you rather live in peace as Mr. Nobody, going out a ripe old age in some care-home smelling like your own urine? Or, would you wanna go out all guns-a-blazing, smelling like a bed of fresh roses without ever living to see your thirtieth?”

“Not to sound like a street-rat, Dex, but I’m here for a good time, not a long time. Whatever it takes, to get me to the top. I’ll do it. It’s first place or no place for me.”

The African-American fixer nodded, with a slight grin. “I like you already, kid. You got that spark about you, refined sort of. Course, ain’t nobody real classy in a city like this. I respect that, nothing like eagerness from the supple youth.”

“Ain’t to be disrespecting, Dex, but let’s get down to the brass tacks. The job, tell me the details.”

Dex dipped down to the side, placing his cigar in the nearby ashtray next to his window. “There’s a prototype, a little biochip to be more precise. I want it, and it is priceless.”

“Lemme guess, it’s gotta belong to one of the big four.”

“You’re right, smart. It belongs to Arasaka. It’s a Relic Biochip, surely that ain’t a problem.”

V took a moment to think. Militech was one issue that still needed solving, one that couldn’t just go away with a snap of the fingers, but with Dex, V didn’t know if the man had favours that could have gotten him off with anything he had done for that godforsaken corporation. However, if this job, still in discussion, meant swapping Militech for Arasaka, it meant he was only swapping one devil for another.

Two of the biggest corporations, breathing down V’s neck. Not an entirely pleasurable thought. Then again, spending enough time in the middle of the corporate hellscape that was Militech’s internal departments was bad enough, perhaps rebelling properly would make V feel much better knowing that going corpo was never going to be an option again.

“Fuck no, the corps don’t deserve any kind of special treatment.”

“Shit, you don’t play around. Nice.”

V nodded, tapping his fingers against his palm as he discussed the details. “I’ve seen how corps are run from the inside, ain’t pretty. I doubt Militech or Biotechnica are any different from Arasaka. They take anything they can get, whenever they can get it, however they can get it. Sometimes, you gotta take back a little to make a stand. They ain’t invincible.”

“Damn straight, brother. I gotta feeling this could be the start of a beautiful friendship built on the foundation of thousands of eddies. Here, take this shard. It’s for the, eh, briefing.”

Dex handed V a tech-shard, which V slotted into the space behind his ear. Holographic projections began to pop up, folders of information and research already done before the two main topics of conversation came to light.

“This the prep?”

“Yep. Two main issues before we can begin. Our client, and some equipment. Client is Evelyn Parker, classy-lady if I do say so myself. Said she wants to meet one of the crew that’s got some skin in the game. She wants to meet at Lizzie’s, discrete. Our other issue is the tech. We need a special type of bot for this job, prototype, called the Flathead.”

V perked up at that, his own CPU bringing up any mention of the Flathead drone that he got from his days at Militech. Most of what came up was the documents he took from Stout before he left the corp. Emails about production specifications and folders upon folders of executives arguing between offices about who’s fault it was for losing the convoy the prototype was being carried in. Of course, that never went anywhere, but it was left at Stout’s door to clean up.

“Flathead drone. Internal reconnaissance and hacking drone, model number MT0D112. Went missing from Militech hands a couple of months back, I remember this.”

Dex’s eyebrows raised over the rim of his black, box-style sunglasses. “Huh, Jackie never mentioned you were a drone-specialist.”

V shrugged off the half-compliment. “Consider me more of a corporate specialist, I know how to play the game with people, especially corpo-rats. Played Militech for a pack of fools a couple months back too, in Arizona.” _Good to see that we haven’t exactly lost the art of lying convincingly V, at this rate you could bargain your way into Arasaka,_ he thought to himself.

“Good performance, nice to know that, could come in handy in the future.” Dex muttered, hand outstretched before the driver handed him another cigar. “It’s a conundrum involving Maelstrom and Militech. Maelstrom took their convoy, stole their drone. Apparently the corpos got some hoity-toity bitch in heels searching high and low for the thing, like her life depends on it. Might be worth pulling off another scam if you can to see if you can play Maelstrom together. Thing is, I already paid for the drone from Maelstrom, if they try and scam you, deal with them.”

V pulled out the shard, handing it back to Dex. “Roger that, boss. Time to get to work.”

“Good, I’ll set up the meet with Miss Parker. Flathead and Maelstrom is all you. Yo, Fozzy, pull over to let our boy out.”

The car soon pulled up, with V patting Dex on the shoulder before getting out. The car soon sped off into the distance, leaving V in the middle of the street with a nearby market. The smells of synth-food and voices of many turned V away from entering the market before he began his walk down the street. He checked his holo as he walked back to the residential area of Watson, calling Jackie.

“Yo, Jackie, in two days, we gotta meet at the All-Foods factory, that’s where Maelstrom is hold up. Gotta get something for Dex.”   
**-  
26/08/2077  
Lizzie’s Bar, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
-  
**Getting into Lizzie’s Bar when you were a regular became much more of a flattering experience when met with the Moxes. Having them know you meant instant access, sometimes even trust amongst them if you gave them the respect that they wanted, and definitely earned. It might have sounded a little bit silly, but apparently street girls that stood up for themselves against the likes of scavvers, Valentinos and Tyger Claws?

That was a successful way of making yourself known in Night City.

As V entered the club once more, he went immediately to the bar, cutting past the various booths before taking the single empty seat at the bar. Rolling the sleeves of his long-sleeve, he motioned for the bartender to come over. The man was cybered, mostly around the facial region, black eyes and noticeable silver near his chin and running down his neck. Although didn’t miss that his third and little finger were replacements of a carbon-fibre variety.

“What can I get you, buddy?”

“Looking for a girl named Evelyn Parker, and a straight tequila, please.”

The woman next to him almost turned to face him. Green and pink hair that flopped over the left side of her head, shaved around and dressed in a white shirt with denim overalls, tats all over. Bright red roses with a large ‘13’ inked permanently into pale skin. She finished her drink before disappearing into the crowd. V shrugged, waiting as the tender passed him the sole shot glass of tequila.

“The tequila, I can do. The woman, not so much. You look like a big boy, I’m sure you can ask around yourself.”

V growled. “Look, buddy…”

“Matteo, please, relax. Besides, I was waiting for this one myself.” A voice across the bar called out. “Two glasses of whisky, Woodford Reserve.”

A younger woman approached from V’s left, dressed in a glittering silver coat with a large collection of white thick fur in the collar, underneath, a lot of alabaster skin that was hidden away by the small, silver dress that left little to the imagination. What also stood out was the fact that her hair was almost neon blue, and she held herself in such a way that she was most certainly out of place in a club like Lizzie’s. In V’s experience, it usually meant one of two things, but neither of those points seemed to be relevant considering her own self-introduction.

“So, you’re Evelyn. Like what you’re looking at?”

Evelyn scoffs. “Dex didn’t mention you loved yourself. Besides, if I didn’t, I’d let you know. I assume that you are V.”

“You would be correct in assuming.”

Evelyn nodded, taking both glasses. “Come on, I know a place where we can talk quietly. If anyone asks, we’re in the lounge Matteo, we were never here.”

As soon as Evelyn veered away from the bar, V had soon followed her through the nearby double doors to the VIP lounges. The nearby Mox guard nodded as she allowed them both through, with Evelyn lurking near an empty lounge before handing V his glass. Entering the darkened lounge, his only source of light was from the bronze hologram of a stripper that continued to play. V watched in silence as Evelyn slipped through the door, locking it as she entered. Amidst the bronze glow, V caught sight of the red thigh-high heels she was wearing as she took a cigarette and lit it before she sat down next to her compatriot.

Evelyn looked weary, but then again, anyone who decided to get involved in a blatant heist against Arasaka had every right to be. She took multiple drags from the cigarette, inhaling deeply before placing it in the nearby ashtray next to the hologram, smoke clouding the room a little as V took the beginning sips from his whisky. Woodford Reserve, he took note for himself as the burning liquid slithered down his throat. More pleasant than the tequila, that was for damn sure.

“So, Dex heaped on a layer of compliments about you when he called me on the holo last night. Professional, effective, corporate specialist…”

V finished his third sip. “Lemme guess, you think it’s all bullshit.”

“…And trustworthy. I do hope he isn’t overselling.”

V relaxed into the couch, kicking his leg over his knee as he nursed the whisky in his hand. His eyes flickered to the hologram, before turning to look at Evelyn, who’s eyes hadn’t left V. Taking a large gulp, V responded. “Let’s be frank, with each other, for the sake of being realistic with each other. I can tell, you don’t care about Dex, or what he thinks about me and the others.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “You have trouble accepting compliments from friends?”

“Ain’t a friend of Dex, just a worker. Like I said, let’s be frank with each other.”

“Huh, you don’t seem like somebody who’s really that attached to the crew,” Evelyn muttered, taking the opening sips of her own drink. “Would I be right in that aspect?”

V waved the smoke away as it wafted towards his drink. “Nah, but I do think flattery is beneath you or are you trying to treat me like one of your clients. You’re a joy-doll, aren’t you?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, laying her drink down near the holo-table before picking up her cigarette. “Jeez, way to make somebody feel crappy based on a job description. So, what are you, some street-rat that Dex found and took off the street?”

“Ha, definitely not.”

“Look, I do not want a pissing match with my own crew. I want the biochip, and I need you to get it for me. I heard there are two types of fixers, big-time and small-time. What kind of fixer do you think Dex really is?”

“You really gonna ask me what kind of person the guy is, when he’s paying my way. C’mon, don’t play.” V argued, was she always this argumentative? “You don’t trust him, find another fixer and keep me and my boy on, guarantee that we can get it done whether Dex is the fixer or not.”

Evelyn shook her head, taking two more puffs from her cigarette. “Dex is a headhunter, doesn’t rely on trusted accomplices or predictability. Dex relies on his potential, his luck, he places bets whether they are in his favour or not. If he loses, it’s the last mistake he or somebody else can make.”

“You know how easy it would have been to say you don’t trust me? Break the façade, I’m bored already. Cut to the chase, what do you know and what do you want from me?” V asked.

Evelyn relaxed a little, laying back into the seat as she observed the hologram’s movements. Legs split open, hands brushing the body sensually and slowly, alluring and attracting. “I trust you know what the target is.”

“Relic chip, Arasaka tech, part of the Secure Your Soul project they got going, keep advertising it everywhere. Basically, heist of the century type-shit.”

Evelyn dipped her cigarette in the tray. “That’s right. All about personality transfers, but I want the data, not the chip itself. It’s inside Konpeki Plaza Hotel. I trust you know where that is.”

V nodded. “I’ve been once or twice, business meetings for Militech, security and personnel safety. So, yeah.”

“Good. The chip is in the penthouse, where Yorinobu Arasaka is currently residing.”

“Woah, Woah, hold up. Yorinobu Arasaka, the heir apparent to Saburo Arasaka? He’s in town?”

Evelyn nodded. “Start reading the screamsheets, V. You’d know this stuff. Besides, the even better fact is that he’s got almost no security.”

“Bullshit. You’re telling me he’s come to Night City without a single bodyguard. Get the fuck out of here.”

The high-class joy-doll shrugged. “Believe it or not, you’re going to want to see what I have to prove it. Come on.”

Evelyn stood up, leaving her drink and her live cigarette on the holo-table. Leaving the room, she waved for V to follow her down the hall. Taking one desperate drag of the cigarette, V almost wretched with how unnatural the nicotine inside tasted on his tongue. Like chilli flakes in a Silverhand special, he could feel the burn on his taste buds. Leaving the lounge, V found himself entranced as he walked through the brightly-coloured hallways of the club, following Evelyn as she swayed her hips down until he reached the maintenance tunnels.

Bright lights were soon replaced by dark browns and greys, the heavy dubstep and lazrpop tracks played by the DJ in the main room drowned out and mutated into dull thudding that was riding the walls, sounds more solitary like water dripping from pipes and rats scampering along pipes into the municipal systems became the mainstream sounds that V tried to ignore as he took in the details of the job that he had heard from both Dex and Evelyn.

_Arasaka heist, located in Konpeki Plaza Hotel. Target is a Relic ‘Secure-Your-Soul’ prototype biochip that Evelyn wants the data off of. Dex thinks the chip is worth thousands of eddies between each member of the crew, and apparently, there’s almost no security despite Yorinobu Arasaka, the sole son of Saburo is present in the city. This is too good to be true, something is off about the entire thing._

As he wandered through the halls behind Evelyn, she’d began droning on about her career, something about being a true professional that did a lot of things for a lot of men that V held no interest in. The fact that she was somehow around to know that Yorinobu was in town, at Konpeki, in the penthouse no less meant she knew much more than she was letting on and V was not a fan of such a secret.

“So, V. You think BDs are good for anything other than lonely gonks who like to jack off into boxes on their lonesome, not knowing what the actual thing is like?”

V almost ignored the question. “Depends, can’t say I use them often enough, and not for that purpose either. Got bigger priorities than self-pleasure at the moment, got somebody for that.”

Evelyn turned to V, walking alongside him as they began to descend a nearby staircase to the basement. “Good for you. Well, sometimes they allow you to pick out details that sometimes people wouldn’t be able to in person. The Brain Dance is like a perception boost, two people in one body. Exactly what you’ll need for some intel.”

“Why are you bringing up BDs?”

Evelyn smirked. “Because the BD that Judy, our favourite little techie, is about to plug you into, is of the said penthouse that belongs to Yorinobu. Hopefully, I got enough detail in the recording for you to find where the chip is because you need to know where it is to get it in time.”

“Wait,” V started, “mean to say that you got the intel yourself? How you know Yorinobu personally or something?”

“Know him pretty well, we have an arrangement, strictly business.”

V nodded, of course, ‘business’ being the term that he would have not used. More like ‘paid sex’ but then again, being careful with his words was something that V did not pride himself on. His abilities focused on combat, sabotage and directorial oversight, not clambering over adjectives and synonyms for what people were. Evelyn was a prostitute, the only difference between her and other joy-dolls that worked on Jig-Jig Street was that Evelyn preferred to be known for being high-class.

“Now V, me and Judy go way back. Remember, she’s just assisting us for this job. She is not a member of your heist crew, she is another Mox and that is all. She does not get involved if this goes south.”

V sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Be a good boy, tread lightly and keep yourself on a tight leash, okay?”

“Relax, funnily enough I’m not a stranger to tact, in business or in life. Jeez…” V grumbled, following Evelyn as she opened the nearby door into the main basement.

There were no lights on, in fact, the only reason V didn’t activate his night vision implant was the fact that the lights coming from the three computer monitors to his left were bright enough to almost illuminate the room itself. A defunct net-runner chair was hooked up past the main set-up, with the lights from the holo-monitors revealing the curled figure of a woman in her chair. A strange headset wrapped around the back of her head latched onto her ears with two little struts of metal hovering above her eyes. V noticed it was the woman next to him in the bar before he met Evelyn.

The girl was sat in her chair, hands strapped into metal claws with light diodes bolted into the fingers, the headset flashing lights in her eyes as she remained fixed on what was being projected in front of her. From what V could tell, it looked like Judy was editing some pure smut from what had been recorded from a few different locations into one BD. Evelyn gave Judy a slight tap on the shoulder, pulling her from the BD where she took notice of Evelyn and V in front of her.

“Oh, hey guys…” She managed to slur, shaking herself from the aftereffects of being ripped from the BD.

“Judy, this is V,” Evelyn began. “He’s here for that BD roll from Konpeki, V, this is Judy, best brain dance editor I know.”

V nodded, offering his fist out. “Nice to meet ya, Judy.”

Judy bumped it nonchalantly with a grin. “Nice to meet you too, V.”

V took a look at some of the tech that surrounded the three holo-monitors and the computers. “You got some good shit in here, Judy, sensory sig amps, acoustic and emotive wave monitors, thermal readers, some top-shelf kit.”

Judy nodded her head, with a smile, kicking her feet up onto the desk. “Ah, most of its custom. The only thing that’s factory is the casings. Nice to meet a fellow techie from time to time.”

“Was about to say, the expression translator you got, it’s Fuyutsuki, right? Would have thought you’d have a Karisato considering the matrices on Fuyutsukis were out of whack, big time.”

Judy laughed. “True but swapping matrices is easy, besides, the Karisato doesn’t allow for additional scanware as the Fs did so, here we are.”

Evelyn coughed, Judy, coming out of techie-talk trance before she took her editing headset off. “Okay, okay, sorry Ev. Got your BD all finished though. Still pretty raw though. Might have to calibrate the set directly to his CPU for a few minutes while he goes through. V, take a seat in the chair while I get your set-up.”

It took a few moments, the time where V had finally clicked to how Judy and Evelyn managed to get along. It was sort of like him and Jackie in a way. Jackie was the charmer, somewhat innocent and excitable when he found something, he had an interest in. V was his opposite, the tried-and-true sceptic that kept Jackie on the straight and narrow without getting side-tracked. There were elements that he could see with the two females. Judy, being a little more innocent than Jackie but not without her tough exterior, Evelyn being the sceptic like V.

V took a few breaths, controlling himself as he felt the alcohol in his system began to chug and slow down some processes of his synthetic lungs and blood vessels that surrounded the microgenerator in his heart. He was attuned to himself that his HUD usually gave him updates on how his body was running. On the rare days where he almost got himself blackout drunk, his heart gave him the electric kickstart to brutally force him into the hangover that he deserved.

“Hey, V. Tried BD before?” Judy asked.

V shuffled in his seat. “Eh, once or twice. Never raw stuff though.”

Judy got out of her seat, quickly tapping away at her keyboard before she took the wired headset and brought it over to V, attached it to the back of his head before she straightened the display pieces and took V’s jack, wiring it to the headset. She gave him a natural smile, something pure that reminded V of somebody else he knew but had refused to think about since he left the camp.

“All I gotta do is make a sensory profile and you’re all good, just to make sure you don’t vom as soon as you enter the BD like an amateur on his first virtu. Besides, worst case happens and your synapses sizzle like I dropped your brain in a deep fryer. Ain’t a pretty look, gotta say, especially for a mug like yours, V.”

“Well, Judy, let’s say we don’t do that.”

Judy smirked. “Roger that, El Capitano. Just look at me straight here, you might feel a slight tingle and then I need you to look into the two displays. You’re about to love me for what I show you right now, honestly.”

“Whatever you say, Judy. Let’s get it done.”

“Okay, look into the flashing lights and you’ll be inside in three, two, one…”  
 **-  
** _V felt himself slip from one reality to another._

_Falling from the chair in Lizzie’s, he landed straight into a premium style elevator, Judy and Evelyn’s voices echoing in his ears. Yet, the sensations he felt were nothing like he would have felt in the real world._

_He felt like, someone else. This body didn’t have the fighting capabilities of his own or the weight of the titanium alloy coating his bones or the occasional odd shock of his heart microgenerator. He was lithe, limber, small and weak._

_V hadn’t felt himself be so terrified in his life since his youth._

_The fear became so much more visceral as soon as the elevator doors opened, revealing the penthouse to him. One person blocked the entrance to the suite, a body forged not out of flesh and bone, but out of pure metal and wires. The only piece that was human was the skin flap that looked like half of a head. Standing at almost eight-foot, a mountain of steel and soldered wiring and tech, Adam Smasher leered at him like a strip of flesh that he ripped from whoever was in his way._

_“You look like a cut of fuckable meat, are you?”_

_As soon as V saw him, his fear that felt from the unknown tripled, the sensory profile doubling what he would have felt so that he could feel his physical chest-pounding up and down as the borged-out psychopath that was Adam Smasher marched past him and into the elevator, leaving the body that was technically Evelyn’s to get out. After that, V had felt the meaning of true fear in his bones._

_V could feel himself floating through the BD, scanning each highlighted object that was mentioned by Judy and Evelyn as the film played out in his head. As he had expected, Evelyn was just another joy-doll for the rich and wealthy, but this time, in flattering and playing Yorinobu, she had discovered a hidden treasure._

_A secret cooling system across from the bed that Yorinobu and Evelyn were lying on, fondling and feeling, which upon scanning revealed the location of the treasure._

_V had found his target: The Relic was in his grasp._

_Before he could grab it, he once again feeling reality swap out, falling away as he was ripped from his fake senses and into the body that he knew best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter to get a lot of the bulk of the heist prep out of the way, hopefully, the way the chapter started and ended worked well, just a little experimentation from out of the field may work, sometimes it doesn't. Feel free to criticise and leave advice, if something doesn't work. I'm looking for criticism as much as I am praise.   
> -TheApolloSinner


	6. The Favour

**_26/08/2077  
Judy’s Editing Studio, Lizzie’s Bar, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**As soon as V had the headset turned off, he felt his sense return to his real body. The sensory profile given to the headset by Judy had made his perception of well, everything, feel doubled, even tripled in comparison. His own feelings, mixed with what Evelyn had felt as she recorded the brain-dance, made him feel like two people in one body. It was odd, sometimes extremely unpleasant, but in the moments where calmness prevailed, he felt tranquil.

Pulling himself up from the net-runner chair, V took a few deep breaths as he readjusted to the lack of light in the basement. The braindance extended his senses, but the crash down back to reality took some time for V to really adjust to. Judy soon came to his side, pulling the blinking headset from his head before she straightened his head, looking dead-set at the man in her chair.

“V, you okay? Looking a bit pale there.”

V shrugged, pulling himself from the chair and to his feet. “Yeah, just, first-time raw BD-diving is a little, different to what I’m used to. I felt, different, you know?”

Judy shuffled on her feet, crossing her arms over her overalls. “I got you, V. Feeling like you were two people in one body, I’m guessing?”

“Something like that. You got any water, feel fuckin’ dry.”

Judy waltzed over to her desk, taking a nearby water bottle from the fridge underneath the desk before she threw the bottle to V, who caught it right in the palm of his hand. Taking a large series of gulps, V found the dizziness from the exit beginning to fade, the information from the video almost sort of engrained in his mind, where the chip was stored, the lack of security, the fact that he’d literally been face to face with the legendary Adam Smasher.

Evelyn remained seated in front of the computer desk, another cigarette had been lit up as the smoke clouded around her, Judy waving some of it away as the smoke wafted towards her desk. The BD headset she’d given to V sitting to the side of the monitor left of centre. As V began to take in the water, Judy began rapidly typing away at the computer, a series of clicking and tapping away that still managed to reverb deep in V’s eardrums. He knew that some of his augs gave him increased sensitivity, but feeling the sensitivity when it was clearly artificial almost made the hardened ex-Corpo want to reject the water and his lunch onto the floor.

“So, I got your sensory profile saved, minus a bit of tinkering so you don’t come out like a fish out of water, if you ever need a BD fixing, you know the girl to come to,” Judy spoke, “my door is always open for a fellow techie.”

“Thanks, Judy, if you ever need anything feel free to call, be happy to give you a hand.”

The Mox techie smiled. “Thanks, V. Appreciate it.”

Evelyn soon stood up, quickly muttering a soft ‘thanks, Jude’ before she walked through the exit doors and back up the stairs to the main club, with V following her close behind after he said his own goodbyes to Judy. The merc followed Evelyn back to the main entrance to the VIP lounges, with Evelyn soon walking back to the lounge that the pair had occupied before they went to the basement for the heist information. Evelyn didn’t sit down, leaving V to enter and to take another seat whilst he finished off the contents of the water bottle. He soon felt the effects of the BD subside, leaving him raw as he felt the leather almost sink as he sat down.

“So, trust me now?”

V shook his head. “Don’t trust anyone other than myself, but that video was something else. You weren’t joking, there was no security there at all. Know where the chip is too. This is insane. He’s asking for that thing to be stolen.”

Evelyn smirked. “And that’s why we’re doing it because Yorinobu is so independent that he can’t see past the fact that he needs security, but if daddy Saburo says he needs them, no chance.”

“So, the guy’s a fuckin’ idiot, even better.”

Evelyn continued to burn through her cigarette, finishing the one she had started in the basement before she lit another one up straight afterwards. She offered one to V, who quickly took the offer and had her light one up for him too. As she sat down next to V, the two sat in silence for a moment, sharing an ashtray as they continued to smoke in the private lounge, the stripper hologram remaining the only real light that was present in the darkened lounge. V was still taking everything in, the conversation with Dex, the information from Evelyn and Judy, the possible reward if they all pulled this off.

The amount of money for an Arasaka Relic was insane, only the wealthiest and most influential people could have gotten into Arasaka’s ‘Secure-Your-Soul’ programme for forever immortalising themselves until they got a new body for the future years, people deemed worthy by slightly more worthy people. It was just another trick in the book to keep masses in line, toiling away for them to attempt to earn something they would never get, whilst those who could afford it like it was chump change would have it and never look back.

An experimental Arasaka Relic with data on, that was worth even more than a regular chip. How it could be reverse-engineered by any random techie, how the data could be sifted through to find how a personality is secured without a body but in a biochip. Evelyn had admitted prior that she only wanted the data, so who exactly was the data made from? It could have been anyone.

“Look, V. I need you to do this job for me, and I mean only me. Don’t split this job with anyone, don’t split the pay. Just you and me, no middlemen. The payout can be fifty-fifty.”

V’s eyes widened, placing the cigarette in the ashtray. “Are you gonked, no way. Dex trusts me, put his neck out to see if I was right for the job.”

“And now, so am I,” Evelyn continued, taking one last inhalation. “Like I said, fifty-fifty cuts for the both of us. The creds that you’ll have, you won’t have to worry about what some washed-out fixer that’s past his prime is gonna do, you could leave America, fuck off to Europe and not look back.”

Now that thought was alluring. V knew that America was a shit place to live, the only difference between Night City and the rest of the country was that Night City held this aura of being some untouched miracle that South America or North America could never touch. Arasaka owned the city, and Arasaka was so firmly integrated with a new-wave Japan that rivalled most large continents that the New United States of America wouldn’t bother trying to take it, whether Militech had a presence in the city or not.

But moving to Europe, the one place still in the world that remained somewhat hospitable and without the number of hostile factions that America had, where living a life of normalcy seemed actually possible instead of impossible. All V would have to do is foot the bill and split as soon as possible, and the more he thought about it, the more likely such a possibility became. V threw himself back to when he had just joined Militech, how one of the first lessons he learnt was that he needed to look out for himself and only himself before he helped anyone else. Personal interests had to come first.

The lesson was rearing its ugly head because V knew that if he took a risk and it backfired, he’d be cemented in the annals of Night City as some turncoat merc that went missing. And then probably found underwater, feet cemented together and left to drown and be forgotten.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ever ask for, V. Now, go on. I gotta have a word with Judy, enjoy your night.”

Evelyn’s smile told the whole story, as long as she had somebody who could cover for her taking the reward and was splitting it between somebody that she knew wouldn’t stab her in the back, she would have the balls to make Dex look like a fool, whether he had a rep or not. Evelyn herself stood up and left the room, allowing V a moment to himself whereupon he finished the cigarette yet remained in the lounge.

He thought more, and the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t help but remind himself that Jackie was also involved in the job too. If he gave Jackie the slip, he’d be throwing away the one guy that V could actively trust in all of Night City. Jackie had saved his life more than once, and vice versa, and putting Jackie in a hole with Dex DeShawn was not a decision that V was going to make.

V got up to leave the club, getting in his car, allowing the Herrera Outlaw GT to auto-drive back to Megabuilding Ten where his new place was. Parking up, V made his way to his apartment and as soon as he got inside, locked the door. He needed a moment, and as he moved to sit in his stash room, he realised that working in Night City as a merc with experience as a corpo helped, it meant playing solo which V was not doing. V and Jackie worked as a team, previously as an employer and employee respectively, now as a pair working together for the same goal, motivated by self-preservation and making their way to the top of the food chain. The only way they got there, was together, no matter what choices they were offered along the way.

Destressing, he quickly threw his pistol into one of the nearby storage lockers and undressed, taking a long cold shower. V stood still in the shower, allowing the cold droplets stream over him in a way that allowed him to focus on just the pure cold that it shot out from the nozzle. Memories that remained ingrained in his mind began to flood back, the system reset and BD had begun to make his memories more vivid.

The day he left the Aldecaldo camp, taking one hit directly for Panam so her life wouldn’t be ruined.

Joining the NUS Army, leading infantry down the line and deserts of Mexico. Taking part in the Unification War, marching into the Free State of Texas or being flown into Alaska with sometimes only hours of preparation before leaving. He’d joined the tank divisions on the borders of Utah and Nevada, wondering if he’d ever find his clan wandering down roads to their next camp, or just as putrid corpses that had been left for dead in burnt-out cars. How the sound of gunshots echoed when Free State Extremists opened fire on NUSA units, prompting bloody gunfights where on more than one occasion, V had walked out alone.

As he walked out of the shower to towel off, he looked down at the sink and at the mirror, his dog tags from the war thrown on the unit, a reminder of the war he was ashamed and traumatised by when he took part. He saw the friends he’d made in boot camp blown apart in sprays of red fog, compatriots torn to pieces by smart bullets ripping through their heads and hearts. The ball-chain of the necklace was rusted into a reddish-copper, the metal scarred and stained with aged droplets of his blood. V picked the chain up, his fingers rubbing over the cold metal as his wet hair flopped over his forehead. Engraved in the metal, his tags read:

**McCall, Virgil  
975-831-602  
O-NEG  
1ST INF. DIV.  
Atheist**

That was a young V, and for a moment, he saw the young V in the mirror. The piercings, body modifications, shaved head and bushy beard and the wear and tear, replaced with the youthful face, slathered in dust and dirt, with a baby-faced smile, entirely human, with the long hair of the Aldecaldos, braids in his hair that he had abandoned long ago. A free-spirit, to be crushed in the machine and spat back out in the corporate world where only the strong survived. V was strong now, and the V in NUSA was still growing. V had grown since and wasn’t going back to that form of himself. It brought him shame to merely think of such thoughts.

As he finished drying, he brushed his flat before pulling on a pair of baggy shorts and sitting at his computer desk. Simple and effective, he had everything in the place where he needed it. No clutter, no mess, not a smudge of dirt on the surface. Books lined behind the monitor, and soon V remembered what he needed to do for the next day. Activating his holo-cell, he called Meredith.

The image that was conjured up by the holo-cell gave V some chill, he hadn’t seen her in two months after all and he doubted she really cared anyway. Nevertheless, she looked as she always did, like she meant business. Black heels, skirt, dress shirt and jacket, the same disapproving look that always made V like less than nothing. Oh, how he could remember the times where she really did appreciate him for something that he could actually give instead of actively taking away.

“This is Meredith, you have no caller ID so tell me who are you and what do you want?”

V smiled, perhaps the system rest mixed with the biochip he took from O’Connor meant he was Tabula Rasa on Militech systems. “I know more than your number. I just want to make a deal, Miss Stout. I know you lost a convoy a few months back, and I want what was inside. I know that you know that your career is in the gutter if you don’t get it from Maelstrom. So, I want to meet.”

A loud groan and a shout carried over onto the call. Meredith glared off-screen. “You! Shut him up! What do you know, don’t make me wait or we can just hunt you down and ask questions my way.”

“There won’t be any need for that, I’ll come to you. I know a transport fuck-up is toxic for your side, so when we meet, we can see if we can help each other out.”

Meredith nodded slowly, coming to realise that perhaps her secret caller had a point. “Playing the mutual self-interest card, I see. Fine. Storm channel under the overpass near the All-Foods factory. Do not make me wait.”

The call was ended abruptly, and V soon kicked his feet up onto the desk, a massive smirk on his face as he hummed a jive tune to himself. Playing the corporate game was fun when it had no possibility of backfiring, and for V, it was even better when he was playing Stout like a piano. She was always too headstrong for her own good, and her own misconceptions about people that didn’t live the corporate life meant (at least to her) that she could do whatever she wanted.

V would shatter the illusion for her.

Tomorrow, anyway.  
 **-  
 _27/08/2077  
Storm Drain just under Carnegie Road, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The fact that the final preparations of the heist were almost done meant that V was, once again, getting a little shiver in his spine. Then again, a grand payday for robbing one of the largest corporations in the world just after escaping the clutches of another corp meant that the ex-Corpo mercenary was running a strenuous game. However, his plans were well-thought-out, and he knew that if he played every card in his hand right, and put his chips all in, he’d come out the sole winner on a well-bluffed hand.

He sat on the edge of the overpass, the early morning glow from the sun began to edge over the horizon, coating Night City in a ray of light. Of course, the skyline remained the same. Skyscrapers towered over everything else, visible far out from the Badlands. Heavy aerial freighters hauled cargo in from the states, using Night City as an independent port of call for their goods. V could even see the trails of the AVs that ducked and dodged between skyscrapers and traffic queues. The holographic advertisements brightly shining on the signs of buildings, and when V looked to the left of the main city, he could see the Biotechnica Protein Farm, mass-producing protein derivatives that would travel worldwide for the rest of the population.

An hour passed, where V eventually leapt from the overpass and down to the tallest point of the storm drain, his legs augments and titanium bones cushioning himself in the fall as the concrete he landed on cracked upon impact. Waiting, he took a quick stock of what he had brought with him. His sawn-off shotgun (affectionately named Sovereign) was loaded with incendiary slug as the mahogany grip feeling soft in his hand, the Unity pistol from his car strapped on his hip holster. V’s military-grade combat boots were tied tightly, covering the legs of his baggy combat pants. V allowed himself to bathe in the early morning sun, but his tight net-runner suit prevented the sun from reaching his skin, a small ballistic vest strapped tight over his chest, a holster on the stomach where V slid his shotgun.

Working for fixers and playing the game for long enough led V to have at least some contacts with the gear he needed.

As the sun hit its peak, V observed in silence as a lone Militech truck came bounding up the storm drain, two main guards in the front seat. His Kiroshi visor picked up two more life signs in the back, as well as a scouting drone. The vehicle stopped, with the two bodyguards coming out to secure the area. The back-left door opening lastly, with a female dressed in a white dress shirt and black skirt leaving her seat to linger behind the door.

Leaping as if he were from the sky, V landed directly in front of the car. The two guards leaping to rip their weapons from their holsters as they aimed their pistols directly at V. Approaching nonchalantly, V ignored their attempts to stop him as he approached the side of the car. As he turned, he saw Meredith Stout, smoking her cigarette disinterestedly until she set her sights on him.

“V? What the fuck are you doing?” Meredith exclaimed, stepping forward and closing the door.

“Well, hello to you, Stout. Missed me?”

“Fuck no, god, so you were the one that called last night? You are such a piece of shit; I should have known it was you.” Meredith affirmed. “Let me guess, you were the one that killed O’Connor?”

V placed a hand on his chest. “God, no! He mysteriously broke his own neck in an alley, famed for thieves and murderers, couldn’t possibly have been me! I was in Lizzie’s that night.”

“Cut the shit, what do you want, V?”

V slumped his shoulders. “What, no chit-chat or monologue? Just skipping straight to the point, no teasing or friendly banter between old colleagues?”

Meredith turned to the guards next to her. “Fucks sake, kill him and jack his CPU.”

The nearest guard aimed his gun quickly at V’s head, but not quick enough. V had already assumed Meredith would not be playing games when the cost was her career and possibly her life, he knew Militech didn’t tolerate consistent losers, he’d dealt with enough himself. As soon as the goon had aimed at him, V had grabbed the man’s hand, twisting it all the way around until his wrist was completely broken. Swiftly, he turned the guard around to deal with the next security guard. A hail of gunfire ripped through the morning sky, impacting the guard in V’s grip.

As the guard went to reload, V’s hand outstretched over his human shield, a red-hot mono-wire shot from underneath his wrist. Wrapping itself around the guard’s neck, V pulled the mono-wire back, slamming the guard’s head into the hood and bumper of the truck violently. He slumped down onto the concrete, blood dripping from his nose and mouth before he kicked his shield to his knees. V’s arm wrapped tightly around the guard’s neck, and with a sickening snap, he dropped him to the concrete.

Meredith was, for a lack of better words, unimpressed.

V smirked. “Way I see it; you owe me two favours for this now. If you didn’t know where the convoy’s tech was, you’d have been killed courtesy of those guys.”

Meredith threw her cigarette to the floor, crushing it under her heel before she waltzed past V, ripping his shotgun from his chest strap before she walked around to the hood of the car and fired one of the slugs into the unconscious bodyguard. She nonchalantly tossed him the shotgun back, walking over to him before folding her arms and leaning against the truck.

“I’ll give you an I-O-U, asshole. Where’s the convoy?”

“Come on, Meredith, why don’t you just chill out? All I want is a favour.” V asked. “That’s all, I swear.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You want the prototype, Flathead model, right? You give me the design documentation and you can have it, as a bonus, I can confirm your death for Militech. Say I used you to get it back. Two birds, one stone. Sound fair?”

V shrugged, emptying his shotgun’s empty chamber and filling it with another shell. A smell of burning flesh and silver was beginning to flicker. “Seems so, but what do you need from to stop you from just waltzing in there with Cypher-9 and getting it yourself?”

“O’Connor’s replacement. Verstappen, says he wants it done discreetly. So, I figure I can get three birds out of this.” Meredith responded, pulling a credit shard from her breast pocket. “Use this, fifty thousand eddies and when it’s latched into the Maelstrom’s net, Militech should have direct oversight over their financial streams.”

V took the shard. “You spiked it, didn’t you?”

“No shit, Sherlock. How could you have guessed it?”

“Classic Stout playbook, keep a gun in one hand and offer something good in the other,” V answered. “Worked well enough with me.”

For once, for what felt like a lifetime, V saw Meredith smile. From time to time (those times being where she could actually relax and do stuff that she actually wanted to do) she was known to do it a lot, and V had been a recipient of those smiles. Truth be told, the corporate game did divide people, made them more concerned with how they made their way first before caring about anything else. It just so happened that Meredith was a good worker, thrust into a bad situation with the convoy since it wasn’t even her domain. She worked counter-intelligence as a Senior Ops Manager, she would report directly to him. She wasn’t asset-management or retrieval, that was a dirty department.

V placed a hand on her cheek, artificial skin gently glancing the genuine thing for a moment. “You got the raw deal when I left, and I am sorry about that. But I don’t see why we can’t still help each other out. You read?”

In one small moment, Meredith turned off her visual capture card, the little streams of data in her eyes disappearing from sight, revealing the uncorrupted green irises that almost seemed to peer into V’s soul. As much as he hated to admit it, but for him, V did feel something akin to what might have been a caring attachment to Meredith. She wouldn’t stare at him like some borged-out freak when people saw him his combat shirt after coming back from a task, seeing the marks of an extremely chromed-out guy trying to hide the cyberware under fake skin, or the amount of scarring around his throat and chest when she saw him for the first time.

“You know, O’Connor almost had me for a moment before he caught you out. Asked me the same thing you did, about the Flathead. I, I apologise if leading him to you got you the boot from Militech.” Meredith admitted, her eyes softening as V leant against the truck next to her. “It was, poor timing, to say the least.”

“No shit, huh?”

“No shit, V.” Meredith replied, turning to face him with a wry smirk. “You know, I have been looking for somebody with a much more… assertive nature. Might have to take up that offer sooner rather than later. Let’s say, maybe, next Saturday?”

V cocked his eyebrow. “Let’s fix the situation first, then I can think about it.”

“Oh, I don’t really think you’ll need the time to think about it.”

Meredith quickly straightened up, grabbing V by the neck of the ballistic vest he wore before planting a heavy-handed kiss to his lips. For a moment, V responded in kind, lips locking to hers softly before she suddenly and bit his lip, hard. Before she let go, V quickly wrapped his hands around the small of her back and at the base of her neck, his lips lingering on hers before he left her. She fumbled a moment, attempting to straighten herself out, smoothing out her shirt and dressed before she got into the driver’s seat of the truck.

The look of yearning desire that V could see in her eyes disappeared, hidden behind the Info-link that reappeared as she turned on her capture card again. The look of desire replaced with a death glare. “You try and fuck me, and I will find you and you won’t like it when I do.”

V watched in silence as the truck drove off, the bodies of the Militech bodyguards left to rot as V made his way up the storm drain, finally climbing a nearby ladder that put him a few paces behind the factory entrance. He leant against the stone barricade, considering his future for a few moments as he waited for Jackie to arrive.

Hopefully, if V pulled this off, Militech could definitely get off his back. That was something he could definitely do with, he didn’t need two corps looking to be out for his head at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Boxing Day update, finishing off The Information and beginning the negotiations with Meredith and Maelstrom, with some world-building for V inbetween. Hopefully, you all enjoy and have had a nice Christmas break.  
> -Apollo


	7. The Maelstrom

**_27/08/2077  
Aldecaldo Camp, Just Outside of Night City  
Free State of Northern California  
Panam Palmer  
_-  
**For a time, Panam had been much more comfortable when she knew she could afford to be on the move. Something that was a mainstay in the life and culture of a Nomad, felt homier to her than she ever felt than when she had helped set up camp with Saul and the other guys. The constant pitching of tents in desert sand or stone-ridden gravel with no real bedding began to bug her the more and more they moved. From Oregon to Utah, to Nevada, to Arizona, through California back to Arizona and then back to Nevada before finally reaching North California again.

For a clan, or the family that they called themselves, they felt more like they were moving in the wildest of circles instead of living free like they said they did. Why not hit New Mexico, go further south instead of remaining on the West Coast, hell, even go East?

Panam had offered that little nugget of advice when it came to the leaders of the camp convening with Saul as to where they were to go after the disaster that was Reno. Saul, Cassidy, Mitch, Scorpion, the ripperdocs that operated their mobile surgery for them, some of the parents of the younglings that had joined them on their ride of freedom. Was she appreciated for her contribution as one of the hardest workers in the camp, of course not, Saul just couldn’t see past his own bullshit that he refused to ever accept an iota of help from anyone called Panam Palmer.

It was times like those where she wished that she could have talked to her mom, or even the grumpy old McCall, God rest their souls. At least they didn’t have to see the shitshow they used to be a part of turn into a larger fuck-up than it already was.

Hell, if she had to dig through her own mind, she had to wonder if she had finally had enough. The urge to leave grew stronger, the more days that flew past. Nash had told her of his plan to get some work going in Night City, that some fixers were friendly enough to Nomads to provide a steady stream of money and supplies for the camp, as well as for personal use. That sounded more alluring, finding a place in the city and telling everyone else to just…

_Fuck off…_

She needed somebody she could really talk to, the one person that could just put a hand on her shoulder, say the words ‘you’ll be okay’ and actually mean it. Then again, that was just another practical joke she liked to play on herself, she could pity herself well enough without the extra help. The only assistance she needed for that was a bottle of suds, and that would do just the trick.

She’d parked her truck near the highest spot of the camp, something of a temporary watchtower for her to just, observe her surroundings as well as the wilderness beyond the borders of the infamous Night City. The skyscrapers that looked ready to tear through the cloud layer, the holo-billboards that could be seen from well outside the city limits, the protein farms, the suburbs.

“What a shithole…”

She’d never been a fan of the big cities, and Night City was one of the largest and most populated in the country. Dense, too, if what she remembered from old McCall’s even older warnings about ever going near the cities. He’d always go on about people being packed together like tinned sardines in concrete and steel buildings that were taller than every other building she’d ever see in her life.

She missed him, she lost him at a time when she’d already lost her mother. The last thing he did was give her a small little necklace, with the prettiest diamond lodged between a cleanly-forged silver-lined necklace. How he’d said he’d found it when he was malingering in Amarillo, Arkansas for too long and eventually paid his price that even the diamond couldn’t make up for. She kept it dangling in the truck, locked and tied tight to the inside mirror as a reminder of who gave it to her, next to the picture of her mom and dad.

The inevitable thoughts began to flood back, the more she thought of Old Jonah McCall, the time of her childhood where she was best friends with his son came back too. The young V, long bushy hair and covered in grease and motor oil. The one V who could always read how she was feeling and somehow dig slyly at her, yet always make her feel better after it. How he always found her at the time where she needed somebody to confide in, to lean on his shoulder to just cry or to just vent to.

He wouldn’t say a word in response when she needed him to be silent. As she grew up without his presence, the more Panam began to realise that V was a lot older than he looked, not physically, of course, she was older than him by two days but how he was always the quiet one when every other kid was loud and full of swaggering overconfidence. How when every other kid was fucking about, not helping, he’d be fixing the camp’s trucks or scouting bikes, helping the ripperdocs or techies set up in the two flatbeds.

She sighed aloud, with Overwatch tight in her grip, she took one last look at the technological marvel of the city through the scope of the heavy GRAD sniper rifle before she set it down in the bed of the truck, sliding down before she pulled a small picture from her jacket pocket, taking the jacket off as she sat in the shade of the truck. The picture was small, but it meant more than anything to her that she could just keep the photo on her person at all times. How she’d hold it in her hands and just look at the faded colours, of the image from almost twelve years prior. How McCall had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of her mother, smiling. A fifteen-year-old Panam was stood between the adults, smiling hesitantly whilst V was lying across the hood of McCall’s Mackinaw truck, as greased-up as a bird in an oil slick.

She was restraining herself from crying, but she held the photo tightly in her hands before she planted a small kiss on the photograph before she tucked it in the pocket of her jacket once more as she took her rifle and continued observing the outskirts of Night City.  
 **-  
27/08/2077  
All-Foods Production Facility, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
-  
**The moments where V was waiting for Jackie were passed by with him looking at the malware shard that Meredith had given to him. He knew Meredith was good at her job, and V had very little doubt that whoever she had been holding captive in the holo-call the night before was going to crack sooner or later, but discretion and subversion were never one of the skills that she used often.

Of course, that was no disrespect to her skillset. It was just that she was terrifyingly open with what she wanted when she wanted it. She just never tried to do it quietly, and V knew that was one of the reasons that she never got any higher up the food chain than she was. If she was quiet, V probably would have seen her as more of a threat to his power, and O’Connor probably would have too if he wasn’t lying in either the garbage dumps outside the city or the morgue.

Using his system scan, he took the malware apart carefully, with enough precision to see what was underneath all the bad code. A decent number of eddies was to be expected, to make the shard look legit, hidden under a metric tonne of malware that would rip apart a system’s financial security and control in seconds.

It would be ripping very loudly. So that was where Meredith had put her usual tone, in the shard itself. That was a shame, being quiet and subtle about her tricks actually worked quite well.

Re-securing the malware, V began to make a few slight modifications to the shard. Taking some of the malware’s more aggressive code out, replaced with latch-keys in order for the shard to linger on the system for longer than a few days, before taking out half of the redundant malware to make it sleeker and quieter. At least that way, V could give them the shard, take the bot and walk right out.

Sliding the shard back into his pocket, he took a few more moments to check his gear before the familiar roar of Jackie’s ARCH Nazare motorcycle tore through the street’s acoustics, screeching tires burning rubber against the tarmac as he soon parked just in front of V. The heavy-set merc soon joined his comrade, checking his pistols were loaded before they began to cross the street to the factory.

“You think this deal will shake well?” Jackie asked. “You look like you’re ready to fuck somebody’s day up.”

V shrugged. “If we don’t click with these borged-out steelfucks, then when shit gets real, I will fuck somebody’s day up. Probably theirs.”

Jackie laughed aloud, sliding his pistols in the holsters attached to his belt. “No shit, damn, I hate these guys. Fucking cyberpsycho cult is what these guys are.”

V nodded silently as they walked through the main entrance of the factory, moving past old flatbeds that had been dead and gone for a long time. Walking down the nearby cargo ramp, Jackie leant across the nearby door to the storage basement, before V pressed the button to call inside the facility.

A gravelly, dry voice with a tinge of cyberization replied. “Fuck you want?” the voice growled.

“Hear to collect some merch for Dex DeShawn, a bot, if you wanna be specific.”

The gravelly voice on the call took a few seconds to think, but the silence was the response from the call. Instead, a loud screech erupted from the rusting gate as it began to rise up. As it was raised, the yellow detection lasers of two turrets glowed and aimed at the two freelancers only to soon aim downwards at the floor. V turned to look at his ally, who’s eyes were squinted before he took the hesitant first steps inside the factory. Following close behind, V’s hands automatically floated to the sawn-off strapped to his chest plate. Jackie quietly observed the surroundings as he walked forward, security systems ignoring the pair as they continued to the main production floor.

As V walked slowly, he took in the signs that major parts of the facility had been ransacked by the Maelstrom gang. Anything that resembled tech that could be taken apart and attached to their nervous system without causing burnout, anything that wasn’t nailed down even, all of it was gone. Strewn about were pieces of tech that were no longer compatible or just plain out of date. As they approached the main floor, V took note of the empty military crates that were torn open, safety moulds that were thrown on the floor empty, the classified Militech gear stolen by the cyborg-fanatics.

As soon as they reached the production floor, a crew of Maelstrom guys gathered to filter them straight to the nearby elevator, the factory itself was dead. Turned off as more, smaller members of the gang ripped apart the production line, cranes and pieces of cargo tech stripped away into nothingness as they used it to shore up their defences or to make more weapons for themselves. The gang members themselves were barely human.

Their remaining skin (or at least the stuff that wasn’t synthetic) was greying or just straight up rotting off the metal. Skin was split to make way for heavy wiring that entered the body wherever it could. Flesh-and-bone arms and legs were outright replaced with metal replacements, some of the cyberware beginning to rust under wear and tear whilst others looked brand new and shiny. V couldn’t imagine changing more than an eye or ear if he needed to, at least if it assisted him in some way, but the guys and gals at Maelstrom appeared to not share his opinion on such matters. Eyes multiplied by two, glowing a vicious blood-red glow, wires that were soldered into the chest and around necks before connecting straight to the temples of some of the guards.

V was apparently staring too much. “Get to the elevator, Royce is waiting! Fucking SHEEP!”

“Shit, that guy’s got some under the skin tech. Fuckin’ nice.”

“Look at his arm, that’s got some mantis blades and a mono-wire, how the fuck has he got them both?”

V continued in silence, straightening his head before he joined Jackie in the nearby elevator. A deep silence was beginning to permeate between the two friends, as neither of them had exactly discussed a plan before entering. Jackie had joined on the assumption that V had gotten at least a basic outline of a plan that he was going to explore, although the silence between the two didn’t exactly fill the ex-Valentino with swelling confidence.

“V, you got a plan? Look, I know that Dex said he already bought it but, you know, what if these guys try to fuck us? We don’t exactly know what’s gonna send them psycho, you know, homes?”

V nodded, head straight ahead. “Don’t worry, I got a plan. Got some spare creds if they try to scam us anyway. Courtesy of a contact that owes me a favour. Just relax, choom.”

“You, know I can’t exactly be chill when I barely know anything about what these guys want. The Valentinos, you know, they follow God and the Santa Madre, you know what makes them tick, what can piss them off. I don’t with these guys.”

V turned to Jackie; stern look in his eyes. “Look, just listen to what I say in there, okay. If shit goes south, we know what we gotta do. If it doesn’t, we can all walk away with the drone, without having fired a single shot. Just trust me, okay.”

“Okay, choomba, I trust you.”

“Good, now relax.”

The elevator began to slow up, and soon as it ground to a halt, the doors opened to a semi-lounge. A netrunner chair was stacked in the corner of the room, the netrunner himself wired into the net of the facility whilst a couple more goons were standing around. V and Jackie themselves were met at the door by a small, wretch-looking gangoon. Wires were jacked all into his skin directly, the top half of his face was replaced with a blood-coated metal faceplate, five glowing red eyes staring right at the pair. A black-steel D12 revolver held loosely in his grip, the goon was leaning against the wall.

“So, whaddya want?”

V answered quick. “Flathead drone, model MTOD112. Here for a collection.”

“So, the fuck do I care about some drone you want?”

V sighed. “Guys we represent already paid Brick for the drone like I said, my associate and I here are just here for the collection. We can talk direct to Royce, if necessary. I’m sure we won’t have to though; you look like a pleasant enough guy.”

The Maelstrom goon shook his head before he pointed to the nearby couch. “No fucking way. You’ll talk to me and I’ll see if it’s possible we can give you this fuckin’ drone. Name’s Dum-Dum, by the way. Now, fucking plant your ass on the couch.”

V shrugged off the man’s cyberized voice, the echoes of his tone grouchy as it echoed through his metal skull and vocal augs. V approached the red leather couch, Dum-Dum circling with some of his own goons as Jackie stood at V’s back, arms folded against his chest. The ex-Corpo soon took a seat first, kicking his leg up against the coffee table nearby, with Dum crouching over with one foot planted directly on the table itself. Jackie had not sat down like he’d been asked.

Dum-Dum was not pleased. “Well, sit your ass down then, cholo.”

“I’d prefer to stand, Ironsides.”

Dum-Dum growled. “This so fucking hard? FUCKING ASS, ON THE FUCKING COUCH!”

For as tall as Jackie was, Dum-Dum wasn’t exactly frightened of the guy either. The two stood face to face, eyes glowering directly at each other.

“Make me, red-eye.”

“Thought you’d never fuckin’ ask,” Dum-Dum grumbled. “Sit your ass down before I plant a bullet in your fleshy fuckhole of a skull.”

V stood to grip Jackie by the shoulder. “Jack, sit the fuck down. I got this.”

“I don’t like this guy’s tone, and sitting on your ass makes you an easy target,” Jackie muttered. “I’m standing.”

“Jack! Sit down!”

Jackie, surprised by V’s sudden outburst, reluctantly sat down, his eyes not leaving Dum-Dum as he sat down directly in front of them on the coffee table. Nodding with an open smirk, the Maelstrom ganger pulled out a small silver inhaler, placing it in his mouth before he released a large amount of smoke with the two large inhalations. “Damn! Shit’s good!”

“What you got?” V asked.

“Fuckin skeef, V. Knocks you out, right on your ass.”

Dum-Dum nodded. “Makes you feel fuckin’ invincible, some preem-o shit. Gotta try it, man.”

V considered it for a moment. “Can’t, got fuckin synth-lungs just put in, gotta wait bro. Maybe you can hook me up some other time if this goes well.”

Dum-Dum laughed, quickly taking in another large inhalation before he clapped his hands together, tossing the empty inhaler as clouds of smoke were released. “Ha! I fuckin’ like this guy! I’ll send you a taster, honestly man, this shit fuckin’ rocks!”

The trio began to speak quietly, small-talk as one Maelstrom goon walked in as he carried a heavy military hard case which was soon placed on the table. Dum-Dum turned to open the case, the moulds fitting in the large Flathead drone, with one control shard next to it. Dum-Dum placed a hand upon the ‘head’ of the drone, patting it affectionately before he took the chip in his hand.

V wasn’t focusing entirely on the drone, however. He knew that whilst he needed it for the heist, his eyes were focused on the chip that was placed on the other side of the hard case. Larger than the control chip, it was just another shard but he could tell that the shard was what Meredith needed for her to keep her head on her shoulders as well as her job in Militech Cypher-9.

“Nice fuckin’ drone, this thing. Experimental, prototype shit.”

“Militech ain’t gonna find it if we take out this place, right?” Jackie asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the drone.

“Ha! They can hop around and fuckin’ try!” Dum-Dum exclaimed, pointing at scratches on the drone. “We filed off the serial numbers and deactivated access locks with our own tech, once it’s yours, it’s all yours.”

“Good,” V muttered, “lemme see it in action.”

“Right on, bro, now we’re fuckin’ talking! Fuckin’ tricked out this thing, full thermo-optic camo armour, dynamic movement, full cognitive immersion with Raven control,” Dum-Dum placed the control chip in his chip slot, red-eyes soon changing to blue, alongside the drone as it picked itself up from the case. “Pimped out, prototype actuators made from fuckin’ titanium-vanadium-kevlar composite!”

“Nice, we’ll take it,” V asked, standing up.

Dum-Dum quickly jumped to his feet, the nearby shutter opening as an even larger form walked out from the office behind the shutter door. Towering over everyone, including Jackie, the man stomped over, gun out of the holster, the goons pulling their weapons but without any chance for V and Jackie to pull their own. The tall man’s head was barely that, half of the entire thing was replaced by metal, a noticeable dip where the skull should have been was replaced with a heavy metal composite, three glowing eyes without a nose, just above the mouth. His gun was aimed right in V’s face.

“Let’s see cred.” The man asked.

“Brick got it, it’s all paid off. You ain’t hustling us or Dex.” V replied, the barrel of the gun jutting into his chin.

“I don’t see any fuckin’ Brick around here, do you?” The man roared, “Name’s Royce, and the Maelstrom is my fuckin’ kingdom, you get me! Ten-kay in eddies or you can say goodbye to the drone and your fuckin’ life too!”

V nodded. “Fuck Brick then, let’s cut a new deal.”

Royce, nodded, his pistol moving to V’s forehead instead of his chin. V refused to tense up or move until the moment was right. “Now that’s some good business sense. Show me the fuckin’ eddies.”

V slowly reached for the shard in his pocket. Pulling them out slowly before holding them in front of Royce. “Courtesy of Dex DeShawn. Flathead’s already ours, but just in case you needed some compensation for the losses you took after getting the drone from Militech hands. Dex sends his regards.”

Royce took a moment, before ripping the chip from V’s grasp before he walked over to the net-runner. “Now, this is fuckin’ preem shit. Take the bot and get the fuck outta my factory. Put this into the books, we just made Dex DeShawn look like a fuckin’ idiot! Imagine paying twice for a fuckin’ toy!”

V closed the case up, handing the case to Jackie as they made their way to the elevator. As soon as the elevator began to go down, V took the case from Jackie, opening it and retrieving the shard from the case before closing it up and handing it back to Jackie without a word. The duo walked right back through the way they came out, walking up the ramp and to the road where Jackie had parked.

The air outside of the factory, whilst absolutely polluted by the general activity of the city itself, seemed to feel cleaner than the air that was filled with the smell of the ‘preemo shit’ that the Maelstromers were on inside. Dum-Dum looked like he was skeeved out of his fuckin’ mind and Royce were an issue of its own making. A guy that was too aggressive for his own good, especially when being tracked by Militech, would eventually be dealt with when necessary. V had very few doubts that Brick if he were still alive in there, would be back in charge with very little waiting time.

“That could’ve gone, fuckin, really bad, V.” Jackie whispered as he walked to his bike.

“But it didn’t. Tell Dex and T-Bug that we got the drone, I’m keeping it for the night. Gimme deets when we meet up for the job, right.”

“Aye-aye, Capitano!” Jackie smiled, climbing onto his bike before he handed the hard case to V. “Waiting for orders, sir!”

V shook his head. “Shut the fuck up, Jackie, ya dumbass. Get home safe, V.”

Jackie had soon shot off on his bike before V had called himself a cab, soon pinging a message to Meredith.

_“V: bugs in, and we got the drone. My place on Saturday, see you then_ _😉”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who wanted something for Meredith, well, the next chapter should be quite a nice treat for you. Might not be what you expect though. Hopefully, you enjoy this one too! I know some of you wanted a little bit of Panam so here's me being a massive tease.   
> -Apollo


	8. Venus and Mars

**_28/08/2077  
Megabuilding Ten, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V and Meredith Stout  
_-  
**V had stayed awake since he had arrived at his apartment. Something about the feeling of imminent bloodshed felt heavy in his bones, boiled his blood and refused to let him sleep. On any other night, he would have taken the small bottle of Yamazaki Twenty-Five from his personal alcohol stash and drunk himself into oblivion so he could sleep through the adrenaline and the vivid dreams.

However, the more he thought of such a scenario, the worse he ended up riling himself up before he managed to calm himself down. He could only throw himself into a cold shower so many times before the water eventually found a chink in his sub-dermal armour and slipping into his wires. He didn’t want to have to contend with water damage, as well as his own prior issues that he needed to deal with.

He could fuck himself up easily, and he knew it. The only thing stopping him was the hard case that remained under his computer desk, opened up with the Flathead roaming around of its own accord. He’d flipped the thing onto auto-mode, he couldn’t help himself from tinkering with things, and he found that sometimes the Maelstromers actually were skilled techies when they weren’t high from skeef and snorting motor-oil for fun.

 _Bunch of fucking cyberpsychos in the making, MaxTac is gonna have their work cut out for them when they turn._ V thought to himself, finally picking himself up from the couch before he walked into his stash.

Turning from his arsenal of gear and weapons, V turned to the small apartment extension which he’d ordered. A full kitchen fitted, with some small wine and bourbon racks for his own personal collection. The best thing about living as somebody you weren’t, was that people never questioned it. Ordering his extension as the veteran, Virgil McCall, the fitters even had the balls to give him a veteran’s discount. If V wasn’t so jaded, he would’ve considered his life as an easy one!

Going to his racks, he took the bottle of Yamazaki from the top shelf and took a tumbler before going back to fall on the black leather couch. The holo-presenter was giving off the news as always, V couldn’t harm himself more if he started watching the godawful remakes, reboots and series of holo-vision that felt like his brain was turning to mush. Filling half the glass, he placed the bottle on the glass table in front of him before he nursed the drink for a few minutes. It didn’t take long for the nursing to stop, and V soon found himself going through the bourbon at an alarming pace. It was only two in the morning; he could pace himself a little at least until Meredith arrived.

“The bodies of five Militech personnel have been discovered around the Watson district of the city in recent months. Two more bodies were found in the storm drain near the All-Foods production factory just yesterday evening, whilst the body of Draven O’Connor and two bodyguards were discovered only a month and a half ago. Mr O’Connor was the head of Militech’s Next-Generation Augmentations project, and has already been replaced by former Biotechnica Head of Production Stefan Verstappen.” The news presenter announced.

V huffed, filling his glass again, tempering the temptation to drink immediately. “Well, rest in peace, you vapid, vacuous, piece of shit.”

The news continued, running through statistics about the crime rate that was slowly starting to go back up again. MaxTac and Trauma Team had managed to slow it down, somewhat, but just like every other thing that existed in Night City, it always ran on one thing, and those were the pesky euro-dollars that everyone could get but nobody had enough of. It was going to be sooner or later that Trauma or MaxTac stopped having an effect and started only appearing for those who had money to offer.

He had revelled in his prediction that it was gonna be a foregone conclusion. If NCPD couldn’t do their job, having one private medical company and a lethal task force with a big budget was a stop-gap to total collapse. V still had his Trauma Team card, but the last time he had checked, it was a privilege of being a Militech employee and he’d lost those privileges a long time ago.

“In other news, the Maximum Tactical Enforcement Unit for the Night City Police Department has performed a raid on the previously-mentioned All-Foods production factory this afternoon. Members of the notorious Maelstrom gang were eliminated with prejudice for the good of the city, with leaders Simon Royce being arrested and awaiting trial. As always, we thank those members of the MaxTac Unit and the NCPD for their honourable sacrifice in keeping our fair city safe.”

V sighed aloud, bored out of his mind before he found his glass was still half-full and found himself necking the contents of the glass almost immediately. The Flathead drone had soon crawled back into its casing, collapsing into itself before the whirring of its core turned off. Leaning into the leather, V had refused to sleep. The itching in his fingers refused to die away, and V soon stood up to look at himself in the mirror. The black tank top and the skinny jeans looked ragged and frayed like himself, dog tags dangling from his neck as V ruffled his hair back before turning the tap on and splashing the cold water in his face, towelling off before he heard the sliding of his door open up.

Meredith managed to slip through the door, closing and locking the door behind her before she dumped her handbag and suit jacket on the nearby chair and table. She herself hadn’t changed since V had seen her that morning. Her eyes flickered around the apartment, which despite its small size, was not exactly much different from the one he had on Corpo Plaza. His sense of style, substance and taste hadn’t changed at all.

She just wished he stopped dressing like he was from the street. She knew people who were like that, the same age as them and they never changed. V was Corpo, through and through. Just because he ditched Militech didn’t mean he had to stop acting like a proper human being.

“Got the drone?” She asked firmly, rolling up her sleeves before she took his seat on the couch. She’d already poured herself a glass of bourbon and took his glass by the time V had closed up the hard case. “Good, seems you’re still somewhat effective without my constant advice on the holo.”

V rolled his eyes. “Sure, not like I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been in Militech, but that’s all good. You come to shit on me on your high-horse in my own apartment or you want something else other than my drink?”

The finely-dressed lady kicked off her heels and curled herself up on the couch. Her eyes were closed as she savoured the taste of the Japanese alcohol before her eyes lingered on V. “Shame you had to live in a shit-hole like this, V. Could’ve gone anywhere but some megabuilding, never took you for some, hovel-living hermit. Half the people here look gonked out on skeef or worse.”

V crossed his arms. “You know, you can just take the case and leave. I’d rather just stew for a bit instead of having you give me shit for how I’m living.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Meredith took V’s comments on the chin. “You know, you look like you can barely get comfortable in your own hovel. You ever thought of just, you know, not doing anything for a day.”

“No time for lying about, got shit to do. Bills to pay, people to work for.”

Meredith nodded, unconvinced as V kicked off his shoes and took off his belt before he sat down on the couch next to Meredith as she slowly took small sips of the bourbon. V noticed the dark purple lipstick that was slicking the rim of his glass, eyelashes fluttering with every blink as she turned down the volume of the holo-presenter. V huddled closer towards the female Corpo, arm sliding over her shoulder as she slowly leant her head against his shoulder. The silence was deafening, as for once, neither of them paid attention to the imposed quiet from the presenter or the lack of the hum-drum noise outside the window. All they could hear was the light bustle from outside the door into the interior of the megabuilding, and the occasional gust of wind from outside the window.

V listened closely as Meredith began to breathe slowly, exhaling loudly as he took the glass from her hand and placed it on the table. She wasn’t asleep, she had her own place to do that, V could tell she was destressing. It was the corpo-rat’s most essential tool in the life they lived, V did it himself still out of habit. Deep breaths as soon as they left the office, calming thoughts and collected emotions would lead to having something akin to a decent personal life instead of revolving around the company twenty-four-seven. He took a nearby fur pillow and replaced his shoulder with it, heading to the kitchen.

The ex-corpo was smart enough to catch on to what Meredith liked and disliked, and in his personal experience, he knew she liked a good merlot from time to time when she got home or whenever they ended up meeting out of convenience. Europe, advancing far ahead than anywhere else, still clung to the old ways when it came to agriculture amongst other things. Italy, being the beautiful place that it was, in his opinion could have been the nicest place he’d been to. A few months back, he’d had the privilege of going to Tuscany and before he left, managed to get a bottle of Masseto from the Tuscan vineyard. A luxury for anyone else, V was not like regular people. He took it back for him when the occasion required and since the past month and a half had been hell, there was no better time.

He didn’t doubt Meredith would be rather happy with his choice.

Taking the bottle as well as a wine glass, he’d soon joined her back on the couch. Pouring himself another glass of Yamazaki before pouring the Masseto, he gently nudged his former colleague from her happy place as he offered her the glass. She begrudgingly took the glass, holding the rim to her nose as she took a series of sniffs from the wine. Her eyes opened, looking suspiciously at V as he took the beginning sip of a new glass of bourbon.

“Where’d you get this?” Meredith asked, taking her first sip with caution as the merlot hit the taste buds on her tongue. “Is this… Masseto?”

“Possibly, depends. What do I get if I say yes?”

Meredith smirked after she took another sip, savouring the taste and smell of the cherry-mulberry notes in the wine. “You can have my undivided attention if you tell me how you got it.”

“How about we do a deal?”

Meredith placed the glass down on the table, V following her gesture. “You don’t think the deal we did yesterday morning was enough, have to keep feeding your ego after all this? God, you never change, Mr V.”

V smothered the laugh in his throat. “I will tell you how I got it if you tell me what that tattoo is all about.”

“Which one?”

“You know which one, the one behind your ear.”

The Militech agent’s eyes soon went stone-cold, and she soon crawled onto V’s lap, leering over him again, with the half-cyborg male soon noticing that Meredith had unbuttoned the top half of her shirt whilst he’d retrieved the wine. He could just about the see the black leather underneath the silk-hybrid weave of the shirt before she leaned down to start planting slow kisses along V’s neck and jawline. V tried to adjust himself before she could start, but it was already too late for him to do so before she had begun. Her lips lingered on the stubble, lipstick beginning to smear the longer she let her lips drag against his skin. He could feel her move down, teeth slowly and gently beginning to dig into his neck with a tender tinge of saliva as her tongue began to leave its mark.

V bucked his hips, drawing Meredith from her actions as she glowered at V. She attempted to kiss him again, only for her to feel the coarse material of synth-skin on her chin and neck as he gripped her lightly stopping her from going further.

“Meredith…”

“V, I swear to god if you stop me, this isn’t happening again.”

“You said that after Port-au-Prince, and look at where we are now. We know this isn’t stopping anytime soon, all I asked was a question.” V interjected, with Stout staring at him, silent. “I got the Masseto from Vittorio Frescobaldi when I went to Tuscany a few months back. I heard you mention liking it in the office once or twice, so I brought some back…”

Meredith was silent.

“Come on, Stout. Implicit trust, you know I won’t say shit if you tell me.”

“Do I?”

V’s hands began to wander, soon sliding up the nylon tights she wore before stopping at her hips. “Who am I gonna tell, Verstappen? Rasmussen? Corrin? Just chill, it’s just me.”

“You saying it’s just me, is more than reason enough to worry.” Meredith interrupted him, turning to her glass, drinking lightly as she rubbed her hips against V. “You were one of the most unpredictable agents I had the displeasure of having to work for, and that’s saying a lot. You still are. Blackmailing a Militech supervisor is very arrogant if I do say so.”

“Had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?”

Meredith smirked as she finished off the glass, before planting a light kiss on V’s lips. The taste of berries and the sweetness of the wine mixed with the smooth wooden taste of the bourbon, the taste lingering longer on V’s tongue for longer than it ever should have. Meredith smiled. “Consider this as you having my undying attention.”

V's hands wandered upwards, beginning to unbutton the rest of the shirt before Meredith shrugged the silk off from her shoulders. From what V could tell, she’d at least come prepared for what she wanted to do. Black lace bra, with leather straps riding over her shoulders before connecting to the small belt that was just visible from underneath the top of her skirt. V flicked the straps off her shoulders, Meredith letting out a small sigh as they fell off her shoulders, the bra hooked around her back which V ignored for now. His head leant forward, planting gentle kisses to exposed, pale skin around her breasts and her stomach.

He had to admit, she was an ideal partner. Lithe, but toned and muscled where it mattered. For somebody who was usually relegated to office work or supervision, she definitely had made sure she had the body of a field agent. She might not have been as fit as V wanted for somebody in his former team, but she was good enough. He didn’t bother asking for more, she did enough to deserve him lavishing her with ‘praise’. As he continued to kiss her, she slowly began to talk.

“Was in a band when I was… younger. Rich kid shit,” she managed to gasp with lilted breaths. “I was with the drummer; thought we were meant to be. Was stupid enough to believe his bullshit. Broken heart, never again. There.”

“See,” V stopped between kisses. “That was all you had to say, how easy was that?”

Meredith almost immediately grabbed V by the hair, tufts of black held tight in her grasp as she pulled his head to look at her directly in the eyes. Her look was stone-cold as V looked into her emerald eyes. “Tell a fuckin’ soul, and kiss your ass goodbye, asshole.”

“Yes, Ma’am…” V tried to lower his head, but it was to no effect.

Meredith had yet to let go. “V, I’m serious. Don’t say a word of this to anyone.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Meredith began to slump, lowering herself as she let go of V’s hair. Her mane of blonde hair was immaculately styled, one which V himself could imagine letting his hands flitter through all night long, the same way she would grab and tug at his own. As Meredith went silent, V planted a slow kiss to her lips, eyes closed as her hands slowly placed themselves on his shoulders. With their lips locked together, the two of them began slowly vying for dominance over the other, V biting into Meredith’s neck lightly as her nails began to dig into his shoulders. The large cyber-soldier soon picked her up, her legs wrapped around his hips as they soon moved to the bed.

Allowing her to slowly slip out of his grasp, they stood where V could easily push her onto the bed. Turning her around, V unhooked her bra before unzipping the skirt and pulling down the nylon tights to expose her bare skin to him and only him. Pale skin, untouched by all but him was revealed, with Meredith ripping his tank top from his chest before he took off his jeans. The two fervently kissed as they soon fell onto the bed, hands pawing at the other desperately after too much time away from each, more and more flesh being revealed to the other until both were only covered by the sheets of V’s bed.

To V’s surprise, Meredith hadn’t immediately gone for what he expected. She usually was the one that wanted to dominate or be dominated by him but was instead being slow and gentle. She planted gentle, light kisses to the scars of where V was so obviously sub-human, the cold metal that tried to hide under a layer of skin that he could shed if wanted to look more like the monster he so obviously was to everyone else. Such a patch-job after so long looked inhuman, something he felt uncomfortable with, and something that Meredith had known and yet continued to linger on the fake skin as much as she would on the acres of skin near of his neck or chest.

His own hands wandered under the sheets, grabbing her lightly, grasping softly at her neck and at her breasts in a slow, undemanding manner as the two began to find themselves involved in something that they could almost call intimate between the two of them. For something that usually felt so cheap and illicit, V felt more wanted than ever that it almost made him strangely happy. He could feel Meredith’s exalted breaths brush against him as she held both of V’s hands from above him.

The two were almost in awe, that after almost two months of not meeting, they could finally say that something good had finally happened for them. When all was said and all was done, V swore he could have heard Meredith whisper something in her tranquil sleep.

“Don’t leave, please…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something for all of you who wanted a little something for V and Meredith. I tried something where-in it wasn't smut but you could obviously tell what was going on. If it didn't work, fair do's but if it did, I'd be happy. Smut is something I can do, but I didn't find it necessary for gory details about genitalia to start popping up when I think I can do romance without having a crutch. Hopefully, you enjoyed it!  
> -Apollo


	9. The Set-Up

**_28/08/2077  
Megabuilding Ten, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V and Meredith  
_-  
**The morning had been a slow one, the sun was, in a rare display of laziness, was refusing to come up as early as it usually did. Instead of the golden yellows and oranges that usually were splayed onto the mega-buildings and skyscrapers, a dark tinge of red had replaced the bright colours as the sun slowly came to its own, V rubbing away the sleep from his eyes, stopping himself from tossing and turning in his sheets.

The presence of Meredith still in his bed made him turn to his right, rolling to his shoulder to see her quietly snoozing under the sheets. She must have woken up in the middle of the night, because he noticed that she had taken his tank top that he had been wearing the night before draped over her chest, the fabric obviously too large for her as it flopped onto the mattress, revealing a similar amount of skin that she had done when she had taken off her dress shirt.

He had to admit, reluctantly, that she might have looked better in his clothes than V himself did.

He silently turned to his left shoulder, allowing Meredith to continue taking some more sleep. She’d affirmed to him that it was her day off, the computers and the geeks could handle a quiet Sunday, she at least had faith in that, and she’d already confirmed that the Flathead drone was hers. She was going to allow herself to enjoy the free day she would have, and at the very least, grant herself a lazy morning. Something that V could personally attest to, as he himself enjoyed a good morning where he could do his own thing. The corporate life was one that didn’t allow much of a personal life.

If he had to fraction it, his professional life had been three-quarters of his entire life, and something about him being only twenty-seven made him feel that his early years were wasted away. High executives had confirmed that for somebody so young in the business, he had the acumen and experience of somebody much older and much wiser than him. Perhaps, in his mind, it was his experience of the three-year service in the NUSA military. He’d seen things that had pretty much eliminated the youthful ignorance and innocence he’d still kept with him when he left the Aldecaldo Nomads.

That hope and optimism, demolished effectively as he travelled free states that yearned to be free. Yearned for freedom for so long, that fighting and dying was the way they would achieve it until the peace was confirmed and America had begun to rebuild itself from the second civil war in its history.

As the morning light continued to rise and lighten up, V had already received a ping from Jackie. He’d confirmed with Dex that the heist was ready to go at Konpeki Plaza, and they were to meet one more time at The Afterlife before the job went ahead. Nerves were reaching V’s gut, something felt off but then again, every single time he wandered into danger he would suppress the feeling. It was necessary to do so, there was no place for amateur actions in a job that was worth the possibility of millions of eddies for everyone involved. They were about to raid the single largest corporation and one of the most powerful in the world of a biochip and pray that they never got caught out.

The more he thought about, the more he felt normal at the fact that perhaps the butterflies were to be expected. Robbing Arasaka was the job of a lifetime.

Rising from his bed, V took the empty glasses and bottles, disposing of them in the kitchen as Meredith remained in bed. He made himself a warm mug of coffee to wake himself up from the internal laziness that he could still feel set in his bones. The holo-presenter was quiet, turned off in the night before as the couple eagerly kept themselves entertained with each other without the background noise. The fact they had worked through the two bottles of wine and bourbon was pleasantly surprising, but V didn’t mind. It wouldn’t cost much to replace them, and as long as they went to good use, he wouldn’t pay it much mind.

Finishing the coffee, he went to his wardrobe to get dressed. The regular black Oxfords, suit pants and a white shirt would do, at least make him look presentable when he went to one of the hottest clubs in the entire city. Fixers effectively spent half of their time there, making contacts, speaking to other fixers, some of them even looking to gain a favour with another fixer, or if anything, even try to speak to Rogue.

V continued with his own morning ministrations, mainly giving himself a shave. The beard was starting to itch, and any decent corpo that was walking in to Konpeki Plaza needed to look like the consummate professional. Walking in like a bearded, nomadic street kid didn’t slide right in his personal experience. As soon as the shave had been done, he’d immediately gone to brushing and flossing his teeth. His daily cycle of making himself busy before leaving kicked in, and as soon as he was done, he took a moment to himself as he sat on the couch. He noticed Meredith roll over to face him, eyes fluttering open slowly, rolling over again and again before she finally woke up. V smiled as she perked up from the pillows and sheets.

“Morning, Stout.”

Meredith grumbled from the bed. “Can’t keep up the romance in the morning, V? Shameful displays of non-affection, makes me feel unloved.”

V’s eyes rolled. “The day you ask to be loved by me is the day we stop these little escapades. Let’s not get too carried away with having to talk about fucking emotions. That isn’t the way we roll.”

Meredith sighed loudly, rolling herself out from under the sheets of the bed. Even wearing his top, her own black lacey underwear and having bedraggled hair, Meredith still managed to look like the stunning, corporate bombshell that she was. Her lithe form slowly sauntered over to the couch, she bit lightly on her lip as she climbed on to V’s hips, placing languid, longing kisses on to his cheeks, V himself nuzzling and small pecks on her neck.

“Well, we can talk about more fucking and less of the emotions if you really want to. I can think of one of those things we did a lot of last night, and I don’t see why we can’t do more…”

V hummed as he began to play with Meredith’s hair, placing strands of wild hair behind her ears. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmmm, definitely. We can play all day if you want.”

“You’ll want to do that anyway when I tell you what I did with your little virus shard.”

Meredith stopped, leaning up over V’s head as she glared directly into his eyes. “The fuck did you do to the shard, V?”

“Nothing bad, you get as much data as you would have if I didn’t mess around with your cyberpsycho-virus,” V muttered, staring directly back. “I gave you direct oversight and control over Maelstrom’s entire financial network, pretty much turned their finances into a puppet for you…”

“So?”

“…so, if Meredith Stout wants to look like one of the great, caring corporate types who want the key to the city by doing a kind and moral thing by destroying a gang of cyberpsychos permanently because they have no net to run with no money to use, you can be.”

Meredith’s eyes softened as he explained. “You looking to put me in public relations instead of Ops Management, why, trying to keep me safe from Verstappen and the ghost of O’Connor?”

“Favours, you know, our currency. PR is a shitshow, but you’d be good for it, and you wouldn’t have to worry about cemented and thrown into the ocean.”

Meredith laid a long kiss, one with tongue heavy on V’s lips. She lingered; aftertaste was still fresh on his lips even five minutes after she had stopped kissing him. She teased him, grinding her hips against his own before she stopped, sliding off before she curled up next to him on the couch. Meredith turned on the holo-presenter, the quiet voices of the news reporters filtering into V’s apartments. Her hands couldn’t keep still, and as V closed his eyes to find his own calm before he went on his way, Meredith placed her head gently on his shoulder once again, her eyes closing as soon as she felt V’s triple-drummed heartbeat slow down.

She had been the first to notice how that when he was leading the Cypher-9 team, he’d been the most augmented soldier in the team by far. He’d started off as some sub-contractor that helped Militech sort out some leaks which stopped when he had done the job and he’d continued working as he became a Militech internal problem-solver until he got placed in Internal Ops. Cypher-9 was his team, pretty much doing black operations that kept Militech secrets and reputation in the best light. Verstappen had placed a bullseye for V as a secondary target, but Meredith had said very little.

Her personal life was hers and hers alone, perhaps V knew more than anyone else at the office. Thankfully, that meant Verstappen didn’t question her other than her professional working relationship with him. There wasn’t much to say there, she worked as an ops manager for him, not much else.

“I could say the same for you.”

“Why?”

Meredith looked up at V from her head-perch on his shoulder. “I might have had a word with a fixer, who knew a netrunner who might have slipped into Militech’s systems when we retrieved O’Connor’s corpse. Said netrunner might have corrupted a lot of the data on O’Connor’s CPU so we have some deniability when it comes to Internal Affairs. Well, not me, but you do if you ever get caught.”

“How much did it cost?”

“Enough for it to be worth it, besides. I said I’d cover for you if you got the drone, you kept your end of the deal. I kept mine. We’re even, V.”

V’s heart warmed if only a little bit before the cold tinge of the micro-generator cooled it down. “I appreciate that, Meredith. Thank you.”

“As long as you don’t try and walk into the office, you’ll be good for the foreseeable future.”

It didn’t take long for Meredith to have a shower and remain relaxed. The day passed by, the pair ordering food and spending the day with each other as they usually did when Meredith managed to pull a day off work before it hit six in the afternoon. He got another ping from Jackie, asking him where he was.

“Shit gotta go.”

“Where to?” Meredith asked, eyes flittering to V as he pulled over a black, floral-patterned waistcoat, buttoning it up before he took the A-228 Chao smart pistol from his stash and slipped it into his hip holster.

“Meeting at The Afterlife, just another job brief. Should hear from me in a few days.” V grunted, taking the hardcase from under his desk and taking the document shard from the case, handing it to Meredith. “Documentation and blueprints for the Flathead, as promised.”

“Thanks, V.”

V placed a chaste kiss to Meredith’s cheek. “No worries, make sure to lock up when you’re going home.”

“Of course,” Meredith replied, blushing slightly at V’s actions. He might not have cared, but occasionally it felt nice to be cared for. “V, give me a call when it’s done. Just to know that you’re, you know, safe?”

V waved his hand nonchalantly before he left the apartment. “Yes, ma’am.”

It didn’t take long for V to move to the heavy elevator with the hardcase in hand, he’d already called for the Outlaw GTS to be ready for when he reached the ground floor. The hustle and bustle of the Megabuilding were in full swing when he swiftly slipped through the crowds and the persons that shouted and called out for others as he made his way past. All V could think of was that they were all a bunch of no-hopers and deadbeats, a majority of them were hence why he usually kept himself away from them unless they absolutely needed something from him. Even then, he was hesitant to even look at any of them.

As he stood in the elevator, he pinged a message to Jackie, telling the broad ex-gangoon that he was on his way with the drone and the client’s info. The elevator itself rolled slowly down, stopping on random floors to pick more people up to go all the way down to start milling around the city. He soon pushed himself to the front of the elevator, the first man to leave the steel cage of people before he quickly jogged down the steps of the mega-building to the hypercar that waited for him.

He slipped into the leather driving seat, sliding the hardcase in the next seat before driving through the heavy traffic to The Afterlife.  
 **-  
28/08/2077  
The Afterlife Club, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
-  
**V had pulled through the evening traffic and parked up neatly right next to Jackie’s cycle. The traffic itself wasn’t too bad for a Saturday evening, although he suspected that was more because it was early and Afterlife was a club that nobody could just walk into. The Outlaw GTS had turned off its lights and neon glow, with V hopping out with the Flathead drone hardcase held tight in his grasp. A lot of the kids trying to get in looked like they had no chance, too young to be getting in or just too unnoticed to have garnered the attention for them to get an invitation.

The Afterlife was a fixer-joint, a place where they could find a spec to hide away in and look for somebody, they knew would be good business. Clients, solos, mercs, any one of any stripe or speciality got in if they were good enough for it. V himself could have gotten in if he had worked often enough for his rep to grow enough. Jobs were common enough and he could do most of them, it was just his lack of interest. Corporate warfare and armed situation strategy were major parts of his skillset, and whilst the latter was used, his experience as a former Corpo didn’t really matter half of the time.

He walked across the parking lot, meeting Jackie as the ex-Valentino waved two passes at the nearby bouncers for him to confirm his and V’s entrance. A cacophony of groans, gasps and complaints from people in the line grew louder as the pair marched down the dirty staircase into the bright glow of teal light, neon colours flashing and lounging in the entryway of the club. He couldn’t blame Jackie for being excited at the prospect of working for Dex, getting into a real hot seat in a hot club, but V was much more collected. His thoughts lingered to the night before and how he wished he could have remained with Meredith and taken more time with her again.

For being such a hardass, V had slowly realised over his seven-year career with Militech that he must have felt something for Meredith Stout, the aggressive, demanding Ops Manager with an armoured heart that was he was slowly chinking away at. Perhaps she was doing the same for him, cold-hearted half-cyborg that he was.

 _Damn her for making me feel something equivalent to affection for her, the bitch…_ V thought as they finally rolled up the main door. _Care too much for our own good, on both sides._

“Hey, choom, you okay?”

“Right as rain, Jack. Just, feeling a little off is all.” V muttered as they approached the large bouncer that stood in front of the double doors. “Tell you when we get out of the meet.”

Jackie’s face fell a little bit, but his smile returned when he patted V on the shoulder. “Sure, bro, no worries. We can talk about with a drink at Lizzie’s, see that hot little bouncer you got a little chemistry with the past few times we been chillin’ there.”

“Jeez, don’t lower your voice or anything. It’s just conversation between me and Rita.”

“Sure, homes, that’s what it sounds like when you been flirting with her every chance you get when you ain’t shooting a guy or taking a damn siesta. Keep the game up and you might get a little fun with the Mox _chica_ and that sounds like some fun!”

“Jesus Christ, will you please shut up?”

The two street-rats looked forward to see the large bouncer in front of them stepping forward, arms clasped tight as he made himself look larger than anyone else could feasibly be. V had heard tales from the streets about the invincible bouncer of the Afterlife. Emmerich Bronson, brooding, quiet, impossible to get past and more than a hundred per cent ready to lend out an ass-kicking if necessary. His black shades, combat gear and trench-coat lent him the mystique of such a reputation, as the two mercs looked smaller every second they stood next to him. As Jackie almost froze in silence, V was the first to speak.

“Uh, look, this is a friend of mine, Jackie Welles and I’m V. I assume you’re Emmerich.”

The bouncer nodded stiffly. “Knowing me ain’t getting you in, and you’re saying those names like they’re meant to sound familiar.”

“We’re, uh, here to talk to Dex.” Jackie interrupted. “Should be enough reason to let us in.”

“Really now?” Emmerich questioned, eyes aglow with orange light. He was on the holo. “Dex, got a couple of live street-rats here to see you. Got a case with them, looks big. They in?”

There was a moment of silence, one that V used in the milliseconds he might have had left to send a prayer to whatever god was listening for their souls. Something along the lines of praying Dex didn’t give them the shaft and just take the drone off them, V was too busy expecting a double-cross that he didn’t clock on to the fact that Emmerich’s eyes stopped glowing and he’d moved to the side of the door as Jackie led them inside.

“Dex is busy at the moment, but wait up and get yourself a drink. One of his guys’ll bring you in soon.”

“Thanks, choom,” Jackie replied, V following silently behind.

The one thing about The Afterlife was that the bar was built inside an old morgue and mortuary. Large blocks of chambers that used to hold onto decomposing bodies were removed to make space of the massive amount of mercs and solos that were in Night City. The club itself felt cold, the odd chill in the air that remained from the building in its days of confining the dead to the holding place before they ended up in a furnace. V could feel it pinching against his skin as he and Jackie walked to the bar. The place itself was relatively drab and grey, yet the placing of neon whites and blues and the occasional green made it feel more like a proper bar than a club from anywhere else. The more he looked around, the more V noticed that the place was a hive of every type of solo and gangoon in the city.

Animals, Sixers, Valentinos, and Tyger Claws with rogue Maelstromers along with endless amounts of solos and joy-toys were all clinging as closely as they could to the nearest fixer, to look like they were with the ‘in’-group. The chambers in the centre were filled to the brim with alcohol instead of corpses, with a tall man and a stocky-looking, red-headed female bartender serving drinks to the various patrons. As the pair took their seats, V looked at the stasis tubes that were filled with virtual dancers, almost floating in the tanks as if they were swimming naturally in the water. Almost as soon as V had sat and laid the hardcase on the top of the bar, a much older lady, wearing tight leather pants with a shoulder-less yellow shirt walked past.

“You see that? That’s fuckin’ Rogue.” Jackie excitedly whispered. “The best fixer in all of Night City, Queen of the Afterlife.”

V nodded. “Thought you’d been saying that Dex was the best. Guy spends two years out of the game and is still on top, bullshit, choom.”

“Nah, Rogue was lining up jobs for solos and mercs when Dex was still shitting in his diapers. Afterlife? This is her joint, her domain. You see her little entourage tryin’ to gain favour from the Queen, she gives the best jobs. Best rewards too.”

The red-headed bartender soon approached, a genuine smile on her face as she laid her hands on the bar top. “So, what I can get a pair of newcomers on their first trip to the Afterlife. I’m Clair, by the by.”

“Tequila Old-Fashioned with a splash of Cerveza and a dash of chilli garnish, _por favor._ Oh, the name’s Jackie too. Just in case. _”_ Jackie asked, a dazzling smile as he spoke. _The_ guy _is just a natural charmer,_ V thought to himself.

“Silverhand special, for Jackie. And for the suit?”

“Slinger for me, please.”

“Silver and a Black, coming right up.”

V quirked an eyebrow. “You name your drinks after famous guys?”

“Famous guys and gals who are either missing or KIA. Usually, the ones that go out in mind-blowingly spectacular fashion, mid-op is the best way. An age-old tradition, it is.”

Jackie had to laugh, smiling all the while as Claire finished making the drinks. “What a beautiful tradition, well, here’s to us, V!”

“To two chooms in the City of Dreams, alright!” V had to accept it, whilst he hadn’t known Jackie as long as he wished he had, he did consider him a true friend and even having a friend was rare enough in Night City. “Guess dying spectacularly is a small price to pay for going down in the history books!”

“Ah, you gotta be living like true legend before you go for the blowout,” Claire added before she went to look after other customers. “Don’t down ‘em too quickly, not if you got business.”

“Right on Claire, don’t you worry!” Jackie yelled; the man had somehow turned into an excitable child. “You know, death ain’t nothing but a final flourish. All about living life to the fullest.”

“Jack, don’t be getting all sentimental right now. Ain’t the right time, and you ain’t the guy to be saying last words before the job starts.”

Sounds of the club drowned out their inevitable conversation, pounding music, the chatter of the different inter-social stratums making themselves known in the groups they were a part of, with V and Jackie as an island of normalcy and the unknown instead of being in any noticeable group. V’s eyes wandered around the club once more, watching the gangs linger in their corners and spaces of the establishment before his eyes faltered scanning as he stared, almost longingly at the table where Rogue was sat. V could see that she almost looked bored as her entourage spoke and laughed about jobs they had done or were in the process of doing. She’d been in Night City for more than fifty years, if not longer than that. She was a legend for a reason, her true associates were legendary in themselves.

Johnny Silverhand, the legendary rockerboy who held a vendetta against the corporations.

Morgan Blackhand, the solo who was known for being the one guy in the entire city who was a true lone wolf. He’d disappeared when the city had needed him the most.

Boa-Boa Weyland, Alt Cunningham, Spider Murphy, all of them known in Night City for one reason. Being true badass motherfuckers for one reason or another.

Before long, the duo was whisked away after they had finished their drinks and into a private booth by one of Dex’s bodyguards. Again, like many others, he was taller, wider and most definitely borged-out to the gills. He didn’t even speak, and so V ignored him as he followed Jackie into the private and well-lit booth, arms outstretched on a red leather wrap-around couch with a cigar in his hand. His gold prosthesis reflected the light so well it almost seemed to look like it was made from solely chrome. T-Bug, their net-runner was there too, as serious looking as she always was in her form-fitting black net-running suit with a glass of water in her hand as Jackie and V entered the booth, the door closing behind them.

“Ah, finally. The conquering heroes arrive in the calm before the motherfuckin’ storm.” Dex announced, before taking a large hit from the cigar. “Well, looks like you boys are real workers after all.”

Jackie smirked as he sat next to T-Bug, V taking the single leather chair in the corner as he laid the hardcase on the table against the glass wall. “What did I say, Dex? Told you, V is a real experienced, trustworthy guy.”

“Yeah, when he isn’t sipping slingers and mojitos at Lizzie’s whatever chance he gets.” T-Bug interrupted, a sly smile on her face. “Real hard work you’re doing, V, how much time you spend hitting a home run with Rita there, V?”

“None, just friendly with the Moxes. That’s all.”

Dex chuckled his laugh deep and growling in its intonation. “We don’t judge here, V. You boys do whatever you like in your own spare time. That drone, Maelstrom didn’t give you any problems.”

V shook his head as he opened the case to reveal the Flathead. “Let’s just say, Militech paid a lot of money for them to not get a prototype drone. Maelstrom ain’t gonna be troubling anyone.”

“Nice, real nice.”

Jackie gave a loud cough, gaining the attention of the other occupants. “Look, Dex, much as I trust you, this booth soundproof?”

T-Bug shook her head as if she was disappointed. “Jackie…”

“Now, now. Mr Welles is right. We are talking about some sensitive material in this place. Don’t worry, this place ain’t gonna be having anyone listening in, no bugs, no eavesdropping, nothing. V, how did meeting Miss Parker go?”

“As well as it could go, she was giving some info on the job. Konpeki Plaza, details, location of the chip. It’s in the penthouse.” _Time to lie your ass off, V. We know Evelyn wanted you to do the job without Dex._ “I think she was looking to see if the crew was real, so I dispelled the illusion for her. We’re ready for the job, alright.”

“Yeah, that’s damn right.” Jackie echoed, as V shrugged his shoulders, handing the control chip of the drone to Dex for him to examine. “No doubts from us at all, Dex. We’re ready. What’s the plan getting into Konpeki.”

T-Bug placed her glass onto the table as Dex handed her the control chip. “We got you registered as a bunch of weapons dealer to do some business on the premises, with your room on the seventy-fifth floor. You and Jackie will enter in a premium-service Delamain cab, and as soon as you get to your room, get the Flathead to find the net-runner doing security and use the Flathead to cut her off. That way, I can control the security for a limited time before Arasaka’s runners find me, you get the chip and then split. No bodies, not one. This is gonna be clean.”

“We can do that, sounds like corpo work. It’s all good.”

Jackie was quiet, nodding as he took in the information before he spoke. “Delamain, huh, premium service too is _muy bien, amigo._ Let’s say, you know if shit goes sideways, where are we going?”

“If shit happens to go sideways, the Delamain is hard-wired to go straight to the safehouse. The No-Tell Motel, room two-oh-three. We’ll exchange goods, and the job is a done deal.”

V was quiet for a moment. Everything that had been said in the meeting seemed to be legit, and he’d worked with Jackie and T-Bug often enough to know that both of them were good for their work and security. They wouldn’t rat, but V’s only issue remained, and the issue was the fixer. He didn’t have a problem with Dex, hell, he didn’t have a problem with other fixers like Okada or Ibarra but there always remained the bad stories of solos and mercs being fucked over by their fixer when the jobs were all said and all done. V didn’t want to not be able to trust Dex, the fixer was trusting V enough to do this job already, but the fear of betrayal remained all the same.

The only other issue, regarding everyone else as well as V, was the amount of money that was going to be coming through for them, and how long it would take for the eddies to reach their secure accounts.

“Hold on, what’s the cut. Me and Jackie did the prep, T-Bug is on the plan, Dex it’s obvious because you’re the damn fixer. Payouts.”

Dex nodded, understandable as he looked dead in V’s eyes as he took off his glasses and laid down his cigar. “Cut for new talent is the same and always non-negotiable, thirty per cent.”

“Bro, thirty? Come on.” Jackie had already winced.

“Bullshit,” V muttered. “We already put our life in the line for shit that was already in-play like Maelstrom, don’t be short-changing us now, Dex.”

Dex began to lean up from his spot on the couch, already eager to calm the situation. “Look, I understand you boys wanna hit the big-time quick but listen up real close. Every part of this drama comes with its own risks. That’s the value of your parts as determined by me.”

“Too low,” V stated. “Make it forty-five.”

“Excuse me, boy?” Dex questioned, eyebrow quirked as his hand slowly lowered to his hip.

V shrugged. “You heard me well enough, Dex. Up it.”

“Thirty.”

“V, come on, man…” T-Bug lingered. “Thirty’s reasonable enough.”

“Forty-five.”

Jackie quickly placed a hand on V’s shoulder. “Hey, choom, it’s all good.”

“Thirty-eight, that’s as high as you gonna get son when you start playing games with me.” Dex grumbled, disarming everyone immediately. “Take it or leave it, thirty-eight per cent.”

“We’ll take it,” V responded. “What do we do when the job’s done, wait around and boil a fuckin’ egg? Suck air?”

T-Bug already responded for the fixer. “Wait around and keep a low profile. Arasaka is gonna close this entire city down for at least two weeks if this goes smooth. Not that it will be our problem. As long as you boys can keep it in your pants without having to go to Lizzie’s, you should be fine.”

“Job begins on Monday. Long as you can wait two days for this, the Delamain should pick you up outside Megabuilding Eight.” Dex spoke, standing up. “Now, as some old Greek dog went and said, life’s a banquet, so be a good guy and partake in this little feast. Just don’t be getting too drunk.”

T-Bug had left soon after Dex, leaving Jackie and V stuck in the glass booth. T-Bug had taken the drone off them, and V had allowed her as it was most likely going to be given to them as they began the job. He sat slouched in the leather seat, Jackie praying something in Spanish before he looked at V, shaking his head multiple times before he managed to look at the ex-Corpo and his fellow friendly mercenary.

“Yo, what the fuck was that man?”

V stood up, leaving the room before standing in the doorway. “You want to secure your fuckin’ future, Jackie? Learn to see when somebody is too weak for their own good. I’ll tell you more before we get to Konpeki, but what I just did? I did it for us, I got us a better fuckin’ deal for a job that’s gonna get us killed. Open your fuckin’ eyes, this isn’t Okada or Ibarra. You know how you always said you wanna be in the big leagues?”

Jackie jumped from his seat, standing straight as he towered over V. “Look, just because you’re standing in your corporate shoes again, doesn’t mean you talk to me like some fuckin’ bitch you can slap around, V.”

“Jackie, listen to me.”

“No, you listen, _gringo._ You almost cost us the fuckin’ job.”

“I know a way we can do this without even having to cut in Dex and Bug,” V stated, Jackie’s eyes widening as V scanned the room. They were in the entry to the main bar, Dex’s guards having left with him and T-Bug “He’s giving us thirty-eight? I can get us fifty.”

Jackie shook his head. “Bullshit, you’d be crazy to screw a fixer like Dex.”

“Jack, if you heard half the shit I did over the past few days, you’d know that Dex isn’t as big as he used to be anymore. The client, Maelstrom, just chatter from mercs in this fuckin’ bar. He’s not a big timer, the job is the big one.”

“V, have you gone fuckin’ crazy?”

V shook his head before he poked Jackie in the chest. “You come to me when you want to really play in the big leagues, Jack. I’m sorry if I made you look like some sat-out bitch in there, but this was for the good of us both. You’ll see. Just watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys had a happy new year, I know I certainly did! Here we are with the last pre-heist chapter and hopefully, you can see what's going to happen. The heist will not play out like the game, though. For now though, please enjoy this chapter! The next one might take a little longer since it's an entirely different scenario and I like to visualise before writing.  
> -Apollo


	10. Wild Card: Part 1

**_30/08/2077  
Floor 75, Konpeki Plaza Hotel, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The drive from Megabuilding Eight had been anything but comfortable for both V and Jackie. The two friends were too concerned about their ability to do the job to even consider resolving the issue that was still lingering between the two mercenaries from their rough discussion after the meeting at The Afterlife. The payment was always an issue to be discussed with the client or the fixer, but for a job as large as robbing a corporation like Arasaka, thirty per cent was a joke. They were the ones putting their asses in the firing line for the good of Dex and the client.

Neither spoke to each other unless the conversation warranted conversation or the need to be sure of the plan and the multiple steps to complete it. T-Bug, Evelyn and Dex had already assumed it was probably nerves, and V had to assume that Evelyn was less talkative as she pondered on whether V had decided what he was gonna do with the chip when he got his hands on it and if Jackie had come around to getting more money from the job.

The damn automated Delamain taxi had said more in the space of the short drive to the hotel than V and Jackie had spoken. An exclusive package that provided a bulletproof, automated car with various care packages that managed to somehow include funeral care.

_Great, buried by some fuckin’ robot-cabbie. Life couldn’t get any better than what it is now._

As soon as they arrived at the front of the hotel, the weather had already changed from the typical scorching sun that hovered longingly over the city. That day, rain had thundered away at the Night City skyline, pounding away at the traffic and even spattering against the premium neo-weave materials that made up Jackie and V’s business suits. Entering the hotel in silence, V had done half the job by talking to the receptionist who had immediately assumed that they would go straight to do their job, to ‘sell some weapons’ and then leave the hotel. No chance. V had allowed his inner corpo-agent to rage, scolding the receptionist who was coated in a chrome-skin overlay for even daring to take the chance to assume that he would go by her rules and not his own.

The two street miscreants lingered on the ground floor of the hotel, playing for time as they had a quiet drink at the ground floor bar. A tequila Old-Fashioned and one tumbler of Maker’s Mark, and soon the two ‘weapon dealers’ had entered the nearby elevator and gone up to their room for a quick nap-session before they went about their work and made their way to leave.

Of course, having a nap was only a cover as they entered the room. Jackie slipped the ‘do-not-disturb’ sign over the door handle, with V unlocking the hard case for the Flathead drone and piloting the bot through the ventilation shafts until he found the net-dweller on a maintenance floor, hooked into the neural network of the hotel. The Flathead drone crawled atop the net-runner chair, clasping it’s four legs around the chest of the net-dweller before the drone short-circuited itself and the dweller, allowing T-Bug major access into the network of the entire hotel.

Slinking across the hotel and up to the hotel’s eightieth floor, the security on the penthouse floor had been disabled, T-Bug’s signature lurking in the net of the hotel as the cameras and automated sensors did not detect V and Jackie entering the penthouse suite. The rain had battered against the plate-glass windows, the penthouse usually allowing its inhabitants to look over the entire city from above. However, the weather had refused this view as the cloud coverage and rain shrouded the city in an eerie mist that swallowed the majority of the city, the only buildings visible being the high-rises and the corporate towers.

The room itself felt cold, frozen in time almost as Jackie and V scanned around the room, soon finding the bed and then the small cooling device where-in the small package was revealed. A small black case with the bio-chip. The two thieves looked at each other in awe, the score they had spent the past week looking for and preparing to take was quite literally in their hands as V took the case and placed it directly in the pocket under his suit jacket.

“We got it, Bug. Confirmed it, we’ve got the chip from the penthouse.” Jackie whispered as him and V walked their way back to the exit door. “Yo, Bug, you there?”

“Guys, gonna need you to find a spot to hide, and quick. Yorinobu is right outside, got bad electrical signals and three more signals have come out of a dark zone, probably roof access. Hide, now!”

The humdrum and roar of AV engines were loud from outside the windows, small scout vessels and one premium lounge ship rising and hovering as they went to land on the roof amidst the heavy rainfall and blustering winds. V and Jackie sprinted around the apartment, looking for a place to hide before they managed to slip in between the holographic pillar set. The set was accompanied with Crystal Dome settings that hid a maintenance shaft, blocking out any sort of vision from behind the pillars, allowing Jackie and V to hide behind it as soon as the doors to the penthouse slid open.

“Bug, what’s the fuckin’ problem, this ain’t a solution.”

“I know! Let me think, fuck, just stay hidden until I can find a way to get them out, fucking shit!”

Yorinobu Arasaka had entered the penthouse, the lanky Asian heir wandering around his private domain as if he owned the entire hotel for himself. The heir himself was dressed in a fine leather jacket, plaid suit pants with a snazzy set of sunglasses to boot. The man was followed by the heavy clangs of layered and plated steel, stomping on the black marble floor loudly before stopping right outside the entrance of the room. A robot with a slab of skin and flesh attached to the head, red eyes glaring as they scanned the room, not moving a single muscle as metal shifted around the arms and spine of the robot. A missile pod with two chainguns equipped and ready to massacre whatever was deemed as hostile.

“Oh shit,” Jackie managed to mouth. “That’s…”

“Adam Smasher.”

“What’s the play?” Jackie almost begged.

“Shut the fuck up and pray he doesn’t scan us through the CD.”

The legendary borged-out Arasaka guard stomped closer and closer to the centre of the entire penthouse, cranking and sputtering footsteps getting louder and louder as the cyborg stood in front of the maintenance shaft. V witnessed first hand how cybernetically and biologically enhanced Smasher was, and how seeing him with his own eyes without a braindance was perhaps even more terrifying. His scans declared that whatever Smasher was, whether he declared himself as a robot or a ‘human’ if he could call it that, the scanner said that the borg was only ‘three per cent human’.

The skin on his head proved to be a remainder of his skull and face, no nose, no mouth or ears. Eyes covered and welded shut to make way for constant scanning wherever the robotic monstrosity walked. The red scanning tech almost glowed, and V placed his hands over his mouth to cover his own breath in case the mere action of respiring gave their position away to the horrifying titan. As Jackie let out one desperate, hushed breath, Smasher responded as his head tilted ever so slightly to look at the heir to the Arasaka fortune.

“Room. Clear.”

V and Jackie’s comm buzzed as T-Bug spoke on the line. “No fucking way, the… Emperor? Oh shit, guys the signal from the roof it’s… Saburo Arasaka.”

Two figures approached from the roof access, one man walking down with a confident stride in his step, garbed in a suit not too dissimilar from V’s own. The other was old and walked as if he were decrepit and unable to will himself to continue walking. Dressed in a set of high-waisted trousers, sandals and a ceremonial kimono, the old man made his way down the stairs and directly to his son. The less robotic guard that had arrived with the CEO of Arasaka, was also scanning the room, a pistol under his arm with a small sheath on his hip, containing a wakizashi blade under the protective case. His shirt was undone, revealing a mass of red, silver and black soldered materials on his throat and chest, some silver coating reaching over his neck and onto his cheeks, black hair tied neatly away at the top of his skull as he made his way around the penthouse.

The old man, no doubt that it was definitely Saburo, slowly shuffling along the marble before he stood on the wooden floor where a small table and seat was prepared for him. His son could barely look him in the eye, focusing on reading the holo-pad in front of him before he took a drink from the ornate glass near his left hand, the glass itself filled with sake.

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs.” The younger Arasaka muttered as he read from his pad.

As V and Jackie were pressed to the crystal dome system, they weren’t expecting that as soon as Saburo moved, the guard from before would suddenly jump into view. Eyes with a brown tint turning into a horrifying red light directly caused by the scan order coming from the guard’s CPU. The man lingered in front of the maintenance shaft, unaware of the two thieves in front of him behind the crystal display.

“Leave us…” the old man muttered, drawing his guard’s attention.

The guard turned but did not leave the shaft’s display. “Arasaka-sama, I have yet to complete a full scan of the room. I do not wish to show disrespect, but please, allow me to…”

The old man’s voice was deep and loud. “This is my son, he can barely look in my eyes, let alone do me harm without causing his own.”

“I, understand.” The guard replied. “Shall I get what we came for?”

The Emperor shook his head slowly. “No, Goro. I shall take it when I am finished with my son. Go with the robot, stand guard.”

“Of course, Arasaka-sama. As you wish.”

Smasher’s voice boomed aloud. “Get out, Takemura. The man doesn’t like desperate puppies like you interrupting his time with his disgusting, flesh and blood.”

“ _Shizukani shite kudasai, anata wa yaban hito o yogoshimasu.”_ The human guard replied, almost a whisper as he left with Adam Smasher behind him.

As soon as the clicking of fine leather shoes and the stomping of Adam Smasher had been muted as they left, two heavy sighs managed to escape from V and Jackie’s lungs as they desperately grasped as much oxygen as they could take as they observed the two family members of the largest company in the entire world. The older male remained stoic, not bothering to give his son even sideways glance of the eye, his eyes remaining fixed as he stared at the pillars that V and Jackie were hidden behind.

“Did you think, I wouldn’t know what was taken away from me? Did you think, I would not come to take it back?”

The younger Arasaka shrugged his shoulder as he drank some sake. “Truth be told, I rarely think of you at all. Ever. Your problem has always been that you think the world always revolves around you. You’re so, self-obsessed, arrogant even.”

“Yorinobu,” Saburo growled.

“Why did you come here?! To humiliate me, in front of the fuckin’ borged out psycho and our family advisor? Or did you want the pleasure of making sure that your son knows his place in the family? Why are you here?”

Saburo finally looked at his son. “The nail that protrudes most notably from the wall will be hammered down first before all others.”

“Couldn’t think of anything original to say at all? Not even for me, I am disappointed.”

Saburo’s arms soon were behind his back, as the old executive stood straight. “Did you think it wise and original to sell our, no, my greatest achievement to the Westerners? Our family’s future, Japan’s future, to these barbarians who live in the squalor and ruins of their pathetic country?”

“Do not act like you ever cared about our family or our home. You only ever cared for yourself, to be thanked for all your hard work as you philandered and made more and more sick schemes to mess with our family. My family.”

“Your family?” Saburo repeated, his head bobbing up and down slowly as if he was accepting what his reckless son had said was the truth. “One day, I knew this would come from your own twisted view of the world. Sooner or later, you would not see all I have done for you, and that your impudence would cross a line that could not be walked back upon. You are, foolish.”

“Foolish? Me? No no no, the only fool here is you, Father.” Yorinobu exclaimed, pacing rapidly around his room before he looked face to face with the patriarch.

Saburo looked straight into his son’s eye, the look of a displeased emperor to a fearful servant. “There is much I could forgive you for, but treason, I will not allow it in my house, from my family.”

“This is it; this is how you get rid of me? Disown me, is that all?” Yorinobu questioned, his pacing stopping as he began to smirk, laughing in his father’s face.

The old man did not flinch. “I am glad your mother isn’t alive to see me do this. The heart should only break once in a lifetime. Did you know, there is a very old saying. Apparently, the sick have the ability to delude themselves. To make themselves appear brave and strong, dignified before death, before leaving the world in dishonour.”

In one moment, the young man who had stood face to face with the old man went pale, his face flushed of colour as he felt his body begin to go cold and to shake violently. What was once a healthy man who lived in the prime of his life began to cough, and sputter, and choke violently as he began to clutch desperately at his throat before he fell to his knees. His hands stopped clutching at his throat and instead grasped at his father’s feet, begging in gasps and coughs as his legs went numb. His face had gone from pale to almost bloody red and sickly green. His body went into bone-breaking spasms, violently shuddering before with one last desperate breath, Yorinobu Arasaka was no more.

The old man of the family did not say another word, looking down at his former child with a blank expression before he turned away from the body and walked out through the front door of the penthouse. The two thieves had almost forgotten they were hidden away in the maintenance shaft, watching in dead silence as they attempted to make heads or tails of what had just occurred in front of them mere seconds ago.

V rushed to escape the shaft, filtering through the small gap and waiting for Jackie as he opened his feed to Bug. “Yorinobu’s dead, Bug.”

“What? What the fuck did you do?”

Jackie quickly intercepted T-Bug’s accusation. “It wasn’t V and it wasn’t me, Bug. No bullshit, Saburo just fuckin’ offed his own kid!”

“Oh shit.”

V had already rushed to the balcony door, hacking it open with Bug’s supervision over the net. The heavy rain pelted the two thieves as they elegantly leapt over the railing of the floor’s balcony and began to slowly slip across the ledge to the nearby pipeline system which they could have used to slide down a few floors. V was slipping across with success, with Jackie in tow as the ex-gangbanger attempted to follow his friend’s path. As the rain and wind fought the two at every step, the one thing they didn’t need to stop them also decided to assist the elements in stopping the two mercenaries from escaping.

T-Bug’s voice was dry, almost gasping. “Guys?”

“Bug, what’s up?” V asked, finally reaching the pipe. “Yo, Bug, you good?”

“It’s the net. They’ve found me.”

Almost immediately, Bug entered extreme spasms. The video-link allowed a grotesque picture of the scenario. Wires were ripped from the base of her neck and skull as she was ripped from side to side of the net-runner’s chair, eyes bleeding profusely before her sockets and ears blew themselves out as wires and flames burst from every orifice of her head, her entire cortex scorched from the inside as the Arasaka net-runners began their scan of the hotel. The ensuing side-effects threw the two mercs through a loop, a high-pitched static shock ripping them from the gory sight of the link as they faltered for a moment.

V almost lost his balance, falling from the ledge but managing to grab onto the pipe to save himself from slipping off into the fall that would surely have done him in. He struggled to keep his grip in the rain and wind, the cuffs of his shirt and suit jacket ripping as he activated the Gorilla Hands. Synth-skin folded away as metal and cyberware refused to let go of the pipeline. Jackie was not so lucky, reaching desperately to cover his ears from the static, leaning forward and almost flailing his arms as he tried to regain balance. As soon as he did, he managed to catch sight of V clinging to the pipe.

“V, you okay?!” Jackie managed to shout over the blustering of the wind.

“I’m good, Jack! I’m good!” V shouted back, letting one hand go as he faced Jackie, his one gorilla hand keeping him safely latched to the pipe. “Jump!”

“Are you fuckin’ crazy, _amigo?”_

“I CAN CATCH YOU!” V bellowed over the rain. “THE ARMS CAN TAKE THE WEIGHT AS LONG AS YOU GRAB THE PIPE AS SOON AS I LET YOU GO!”

Jackie took a moment to psych himself up for the jump. The job was arguably the most fucked-up and chaotic job they had ever done and they had only just gotten the score they needed. They still needed to escape the hotel, get the taxi and deliver the score to Dex. The large mercenary finally found himself ready to jump, and just as he made the leap, he’d stopped.

V was stuck. His heart had stopped, every augment and cyber in his body felt numb, heavy in his body.

The glass had smashed right behind Jackie, the pane exploding into a million pieces as Jackie hung in the air, arms and hands grasping desperately at his chest in pain as he looked down at V. A large metal blade, one end coated in blood and viscera had impaled Jackie straight the chest, ripping through the suit he wore, tainting the white neo-weave with an explosion of red liquid. The more Jackie grasped at his chest, the sooner he would expire, V knew that. He was expending energy. The blade didn’t seem to move, as if it were a random piece of shrapnel that had fallen and Jackie had the mere luck of the draw to be skewered by it.

It wasn’t shrapnel though; it wasn’t rebar or a random sheet of metal. It was a carbon-filament blade, fixed with a high-frequency vibration upgrade that allowed the blade to cut through anything it was allowed to touch. V looked upwards, his eyes soon transfixed and stuck to the individual that had lanced Jackie through the stomach, the blade slowly cutting up through his chest. V was speechless.

The glowering metal structure of Adam Smasher stood tall, snug within the interior of the penthouse, his head turning directly to look at V as he continued clinging to the pipe. A loud metallic screech, as Smasher raised his leg and with one heavy kick, removed Jackie from being stuck on the blade. Lifeless, pale, V couldn’t look his friend in the eye. Jackie fell below, his arms and legs spreading out as he fell on the nearby maintenance stand below them on what seemed to have been the sixtieth floor, his spine breaking as he landed on the metal grating of the hotel without no further movement.

“Weak, putrid flesh.” Adam Smasher growled; his voice distorted by his cybernetic vocal device as he glared at V, his missile pod armed. “You’re next, cunt.”

An explosion rocked the pipeline that V was holding on to, the steel reinforcement bending and folding and breaking away under the weight of V as he grasped desperately for something to grab on to. His synth-skin that covered his hands shifted, his forearms sliding open to reveal his Mantis Blades as he attempted to slow his sudden descent, falling quickly before he managed to stab one blade into the concrete structure of the hotel.

His strength was faltering as the cyborg watched with glee as the mercenary struggled to fight his impending death. Smasher fired another rocket from his pod, ripping apart more of the hotel as saw the mercenary flying away from the defaced and damaged wall of the hotel, concrete falling over him and into a nearby maintenance trench for the lower floors of the hotel. Firing another two rockets for good measure, Smasher would have smiled if he had a mouth to use. Instead, his robotic laugh seemed closer than ever as he walked past Saburo and Takemura.

“Threat eliminated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...  
> -Apollo


	11. Wild Card: Part 2

**_30/08/2077  
Konpeki Plaza Hotel, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**In what felt like an hour, V had seen his life go down even further than what it had already done since he had made his great escape from Militech.

Falling stories away from the penthouse building, impacted by a hail of rain as he fell, thrown around by a missile as well as having sections of the hotel fallen off and onto him. The two sudden thuds as soon as he landed, the explosive sequel to V’s fall from grace. As his head rang about violently, alarms buzzed and blared as V attempted to get up, and failed at doing so spectacularly.

His right arm, up to the triceps was clamped down underneath a heavy pile of concrete and rubble from the explosion. Slabs of neo-mix, hardened and unbreakable by six years of being set and ready for weathering any kind of sandstorm of a hurricane. From what he could feel as he tried to move his arm, the entire side of his forearm was not responsive, not even the Mantis Blade that had saved his life. He could only assume the entire arm was just crushed in a savage mess of blood, titanium bone and synthetic skin.

It only meant that V could get rid of the arm much easier if his entire arm was crushed into mush.

The small case that contained the biochip was scattered away, fallen out of his coat pocket on the fall down into the trench. Come to think of it, how V had even survived the fall in spite of everything was baffling. He shouldn’t have been alive, and yet, he was still breathing normally, able to move and think and consider that cutting off his arm was his best chance of living through the job.

He scrapped, stretching his remaining arm out to recover the case with the chip. His fingers managed to barely clip the casing of the chip. Sliding it around as to get a better grip, V finally managed to get the chip-case and open it. V took the chip from its inner casing, scanning it quickly to determine the damage it had undergone in the fall. His arm shot out in pain, causing him to drop the chip against his chest, as the rubble from the explosion shifted suddenly, revealing some of the damage.

Granted, his arm wasn’t entirely a loss he would have to cut down. His hand and wrist, they were completely lost under the concrete and rebar that kept him pinned to the floor. As more of the debris began to crumble, the casing for the chip was soon crushed underneath falling bricks and wreckage. Panicking, V took the chip from his chest and quickly slipped into the slot behind his ear. Almost immediately, his head buzzed loudly, a large data transfer indicator on his HUD sliding across the screen. As the data was transferred, V attempted to pull himself up but failed as his arm refused to budge due to it being stuck.

“Fuck….” V muttered, desperately using his remaining arm to hopelessly try and lift the slab of concrete on his own, with little effect. “Fuck, grr, come on you piece of fucking shit, just fucking move! FUCK!”

_Wolf’s gotta bite of it’s own leg to survive if it gets caught in a trap, Virgil. You want to survive in the NUSA, learn that if it ever happens, you gotta be ready to sacrifice whatever it takes to get out alive…_

His left arm was still free, still able to slice through whatever it needed to if need be. As the battered, bruised and torn down V lay down in the muck, he could imagine what Jackie would have been saying. How Jackie would have picked him up then and there and walked him or drove him home, or if he was really fucked up how he would take V to Vik’s ripperdoc clinic to make sure he was good for the next day. Jesus, V could still see the image ingrained in his head, Jackie hanging over the drop with the blade shoved right through his chest. How he fell and was left where V had no chance of bringing him back.

How V had fucked up. How he couldn’t reverse what he’d done.

Almost immediately, he’d unleashed his left Mantis Blade from its sheath in his forearm and twisted himself to his right side. Angling the blade, V aimed for just below the elbow, where he could at least guarantee that he’d be cutting through neural wiring and pseudo-muscle. Digging the blade in, V screamed loud as the impulses fed from his arm to his brain. One downside was that the neural wiring made the arm feel like it was just regular flesh and blood. It reminded V of how cutting through flesh and bone was really meant to feel, deep inside he was having to slice through the metal-infused bone to break free of his concrete prison.

He screamed, he cried, he growled and shouted and swore that he would not die that day. Memories of years past where he knew he had something to live for flew back to him, persuading him to do whatever it took to keep on living. Old McCall holding him like a father would hold his son, the days on rooftops with Jackie where they would talk for hours about living the high life sooner or later, he refused to fucking die to some borged-out asshole and an old man.

He could feel a rage, one almost alien and foreign to him as he gritted his teeth and sliced and slashed through the wires, growling before he finally cut through the last shreds of synth-skin. Free, V immediately sheathed his Mantis Blade and loosened his tie with his single hand. Ripping off his suit jacket and ripping through his destroyed shirt, V took his tie and wrapped it around his dismembered arm tightly, tying away with assistance from his mouth as he held the tie still to keep it from sliding off. With a struggle, V managed to get up from the floor and stumble out of the maintenance trench.

_Jackie, I’m so fucking sorry. This was my fault goddamnit…_

Swaying from side to side, he soon found himself in the lower sections of the main hotel. An alarm had soon gone off as he wandered the corridors, warning that the hotel would soon be in lockdown due to the catastrophe in the penthouse and that all guests were to remain inside their apartments. V managed to slink through the halls, hiding in whatever cubbyhole or storage cupboard he could find when a gathering of Arasaka bodyguards would come charging past, ignorant of his position as they immediately charged for the maintenance trench where he fell.

The walls were almost a crimson red glow, the paint almost reminiscent of a thick coat of blood used as paint. The floors, a fine wooden laminate that changed to marble when entering an apartment or hideaway. V took a few deep breaths as he hid away, looking down at what remained of his arm as wires dangled from the location of his amputation, blood and black fluid mixing together in light, spotty trails that danced across the laminated floor.

The events flashed before his eyes, his optical arrays playing tricks on him as he left his hidey-hole. The corridors felt like they were changing, the blood red paint changing to a stellar, spotless marble white, the floors twisting from light brown wood to black marble. Paintings and depictions of events and people were swapped with reminders of the ruin that Japan was when the bombs were dropped back in World War Two.

In his vivid visions, a sole Arasaka guard turned the corner just as V had done, bumping into the one-armed mercenary, too late to retort. V’s remaining Gorilla Hand had grabbed the man by the throat and crushed it in a second flat. As the body fell, V immediately ripped the man’s DR12 Heavy Revolver from his holster. Visions of flying in an AV, right over the Night City skyline as they went in on the approach. Fighting in a closed-off corridor, laying a bomb in an elevator shaft and planting the manifesto on the net for people to realise his intent. Running out as fast his legs could carry him, only to be blown away and then continue running.

 _Pushing his friend, someone who he was proud to call a friend inside the AV as it flew away. Turning around to see a mountain of a man, wielding an HMG and fitted inside a power armour suit. Fighting valiantly to save his friends, only to be ripped and torn apart brutally_. V was struggling, what the fuck was in that chip?

As painful as it was, the jagged remains of his right Mantis Blade fittings started short-circuiting as he walked through the winding corridors. That, as well as the changing environments, started hurting his head more and more as he finally made his way to the elevator.

“Ground floor, and then Delamain,” V muttered to himself. “Delamain, you still there?”

“Ready and waiting sir, would you like to be picked up at the entrance?” The robotic cab-driver had asked.

“As soon…” V mumbled. “As possible, Del.”

“If I may inquire, do you require medical assistance? When you linked to my systems on the way to Konpeki Plaza, I scanned your vitals. It appears Mr Welles, is deceased.”

“Yeah, I fucking know, I saw him die with my own two fucking eyes!” V screamed as he entered the doors to the elevator, closing them promptly. “Fuck, fucking Jackie, shit! What the fuck do I tell Misty? Oh, I’m so fucking sorry, Mama…”

V pressed the buttons on the elevators, quickly smacking the button for the ground floor as he leant across the wall of the elevator for support. He flicked out the chamber for his revolver, counting at least eight bullets in the heavy revolver before flicking the chamber back inside. As he waited for the elevator to close, he checked his holo and immediately called Evelyn. It took a while before she actually answered, but those few moments made V feel even more light-headed.

“V? What the fuck is going on?” Evelyn asked, desperately. “Arasaka AVs are swarming the entire hotel. Did you?”

“No…” V trailed. “We, I got the chip. Yorinobu is dead.”

“What?”

“Saburo Arasaka killed him. Smasher, he gutted Jackie and I lost an arm. We need to meet.” V demanded, leaning up again, only to slide down against the metal walls of the elevator.

Evelyn shook her head. “So, you’re cutting off Dex? Look, it’s too dangerous…”

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s too dangerous! I just lost my one friend I had here, and you still might not get the chip!” V shouted, standing straight as he used his momentum to push away from the wall. “Misty’s Esoterica, in two hours. Ask for Vik. Be there, or you can say goodbye to taking this fucking chip.”

V had already cut off the call as the elevator approached the final ten floors, and he could feel his ears and eyes taking in more sound and light than they usually did. The lucidity was coming back, oversensitivity in his head, the aches and pains, they all struck at the same time. The voices, he wasn’t used to hearing the voices before.  
 **-  
** _“What’s next Johnny? Gonna grab some corpo-rat, drag him on stage and make him kneel, douse him in gas and light ‘im up?”_

_“I’m the only one with a vision! So, unless you got a better one, Go. Fuck. Yourself!”_

_“We’re done, Johnny, I just, I couldn’t leave you without saying, something…”_

_“You are just another charismatic, narcissistic, douchebag running around after a dream with your head up your ass! You, Samurai, the concerts, it’s a fucking fiction!”_

_“You are not a rockerboy anymore, Johnny, as much as you like to say you are. You, Rogue, Boa-Boa, Blackhand, you’re the same people. Solos out for an adventure, taking down the big corps! Face it, Johnny, with all the drink and drugs, you might as well join the skiffed-out wackos shouting death to Arasaka!”_

_“Oh, so this didn’t mean something? I thought we were close, Alt, but maybe it was close enough for you to give me shit, about every fucking thing I do!”_  
 **-  
** V shook his head desperately, clutching the revolver tightly in his hand as he managed to walk right out of the elevator. Security measures were activated, but the guard details had raced up the other elevators to make sure that Saburo Arasaka was still safe and was far away from the danger. They would no doubt be scanning Yorinobu’s body, looking for whatever method Saburo had used to get rid of his rebellious son. V had heard of certain cyberdecks harbouring tech that could kill a person outright, but to fake it and make it look like it was a completely natural death?

The merc had heard tales of Saburo Arasaka, the psychopathic, near-emotionless CEO of Arasaka Security that ruled his company with an iron fist. The man who would have deemed anything Western as sub-par, if not absolute trash that wasn’t worthy of his time. V wasn’t stupid, he’d learnt about the corporate wars, hell, every day in Militech was a cold war with every other security firm in the world. He’d encountered his fair share of Arasaka goons, murdered more than a dozen too for the company. It just came naturally in that life, it was kill or be killed, and V was still in that mindset.

Pressing himself against the walls, he willed himself to keep slinking past the tripwires and cameras that his cyberdeck couldn’t deactivate. His HUD was still going ape-shit, blacking out sections of his vision before re-appearing. Music that sounded familiar, voices he’d never heard, they rebounded around his eardrums, talking to somebody that sounded like a grade-A fuckstick if V had a say.

Just as he slinked past the final cameras, V could see the Delamain taxi park right outside the front, the rainfall still slamming down heavily on the concrete outside. He lumbered forward, heavy-footed before he felt the sensation of cold steel slice down right across his back, ripping through the fabric of his shirt as he fell down, screaming in pain. Stabs of pain reverberated around his chest and stump, and as V fell to the floor, he could see the posh, black-suited bodyguard with tied up hair from the penthouse.

The one that barely missed finding V and Jackie in the room itself. The guy that arrived with Saburo, something like the Arasaka family advisor.

His thoughts didn’t matter, the cold, rigid steel readied itself on the shoulder blade of V’s right side. It was already beginning to dig in, and V was not ashamed to have begun to cry tears of pure pain as the blade began to slowly pierce what was left of his skin. V growled, almost foaming at the mouth with spit and saliva, vile words in his mouth that he lacked the energy to throw at the man.

“Your employer, who are they?” The Japanese man growled; his hands wrapped tight around the handle of his blade. “Answer truthfully, and I will kill you with no suffering involved. I will show mercy.”

V almost roared. “Think I give a fuck about mercy, when you had that borged fuck murder my friend? Fuck you, you corpo piece of shit!”

The blade immediately went through his shoulder, blood dripping out of the open wound when the man ripped the blade out. “Listen to me, boy. Tell me how you got the chip, and this will be much easier. I do not wish to cause you unnecessary harm, you have done enough damage to the Arasaka family, I do not wish to damage them by not being there to console them in their time of need.”

V smiled, a sadistic, almost sociopathic grin. “Guess you’re gonna be here a long fuckin’ while then, eh, you little rat?”

The man did not reply, instead, grabbing V by the hair, lifting his head up and placing his wakizashi right under his throat. “My name is Goro Takemura. I am one of the most important assets to my employer and I am no vermin. The only vermin I see here is you. Now, tell me, who gave you the information to get into the hotel?”

“Hiro-fucking-hito!”

Wordlessly, the Japanese-forged knife did not slide across V’s throat. Instead, Takemura placed the knife over the top of V’s eye. With one clean slice, V screamed in agony as he lost all sight in his left eye.

His natural eye, his last, natural blue eye.

Enraged, V’s Mantis Blade shot out, regardless of the energy reserve or the pain he was in. Slicing away madly, the disfigured merc could feel the sensation of the cybernetic blade slice across the calf of his torturer. Taking his chance, V picked himself up, crawling and limping in pain and agony before he managed to climb into the Delamain. Everything in his body, his veins, his bones, screamed at him to just give up. Climb into the back seat, he screamed something at the auto-car, and the cab had already sped off, as fast as it could go when its client crawled into the back to nurse his wounds.

“Where to, sir?”

“Misty’s…” V murmured weakly, coughs and cries as he tried to stop himself from moving. He wanted to die. “…Esoterica.”

He’d remained conscious, the fear of death placed directly into his soul keeping him awake before he arrived in front of the store. He didn’t knock, he slammed through the door with little tact or guile, shocking Misty out of her bored reverie. She looked around, her eyes darting around to look for her man before she stopped, running to V before he had even known he fainted on the cold tile floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is, the heist! Some of you I know will have a lot of questions and I will answer them In time, I am not one to neglect the comments. I do hope you enjoyed this because now we can get to the real meat of the entire Cyberpunk 2077 story.  
> Or at least, my version of it.  
> -Apollo


	12. Burning Sulphur

**_23/08/2023  
Arasaka Tower, Night City Central District  
Night City, California  
The Samurai  
_-  
** _Visions of a time long before V flashed in his mind, there for a nano-second before shattering away and forming into something new._

_Clear and viewable one moment, broken and blinding the next._

_Johnny Silverhand, the rockerboy and his crew assaulting the Arasaka Towers during 2023, one big ‘fuck you’ to the corporation that had taken everything he’d cared about and threw it in the shredder._

_He’d show them what it meant to fuck with somebody, no matter how small they were. Johnny, Morgan, Rogue, they’d had a bone to pick with Arasaka, but none were personal, it was all just motivated for the message they thought they were sending or the money coming in._

_Johnny had nothing left, this, this was all he had left._

_The recoil of the Malorian in his hand, the weight of the bomb in his backpack, the terrible shaking that he could feel in his hand when the fighting was all said and done. The amount of booze and pills running through his veins, making him feel invincible._

_The fact that he’d even gotten into the tower itself was a miracle, but then again, he was Johnny Fucking Silverhand, he made miracles happen._

_Taking a combined heavy machine gun round and a breaching charge explosion from Adam Smasher of all the people, it only made Johnny want to live more. The guy was a fucking monster, and Johnny would have loved nothing more than putting that cyberpsycho in the ground with a full magazine worth of bullets in the skin flap that he called a face._

_He had no doubts that Morgan Blackhand probably wanted it more than him, and Adam Smasher wouldn’t care if he managed to kill Johnny, he wanted to torture Blackhand for every single failure he’d caused him. The explosive entrance of the borg threw Johnny down to the floor, with Morgan coming from the side to save the day and rip Johnny from the floor, determined to end the cyborg once and for all._

_He’d come close, only for Smasher to try and get close and personal with his fists and blades. Johnny pulled Blackhand right out of the fire, forcing the man to run in front of him as Smasher chased them relentlessly through the building._

_Running, sprinting, the feeling of burning lungs, yearning for a moment of respite to just breathe deeply and take a single second to stop._

_Johnny couldn’t stop, he reached the roof, made sure Blackhand was in the escape AV and sent them off._

_He had to make sure Smasher never shot them down, never got the rest of them butchered and turned into cyber-enslaved personality chips as they’d done to the one person who’d ever really cared about him, more than himself that was._

_He tightened the grip of his pistol, reloading it as Smasher finally arrived on the roof. He’d already aimed at the AV, but Johnny had already unleashed a hail of bullets at the borged-out killer to distract him. One bullet ripping through the skin and muscle and cartilage of his nose, something to remember Johnny by._

_The guy who showed the whole world that Adam Smasher was just some fuckin’ robot with a skin flap for a face to hide away the fact that he was nothing but some corporate whore-slash-psycho killer with a robot body._

_He fought valiantly, for about a minute. It didn’t take long to realise how relentless and powerful Smasher was._

_His life was over in an instant, one distraction, one moment of hesitation led to Smasher ripping his body apart with one blast of a heavy shotgun._

_V felt Johnny’s death, his life, his regrets, his every action and motivation for such. The smell of sulphur from Smasher’s firearm. Then, he woke up.  
_ **-  
 _03/09/2077  
Vik’s Ripperdoc Surgery, Watson District  
Night City, California  
Vik, Misty and V  
_-  
**The smell of sulphur was the first thing V noticed, not the dimmed lights or the small ringing in his ears, but the smell of sulphur.

His eye fluttered open and closed repeatedly, too fast for him to even register the movements at first. He felt light, unclothed, naked even. Thankfully, he’d been left with some essence of decency and respect from wherever he was. Sliding his head to the left, and then to right, he could manage the fact that he was lying down in some kind of surgical bed, and the fact that it was somewhat comfy and lived in was even better.

He could feel pain, somewhat akin to his hand, no, his forearm tensing and opening and closing up, the movements he used to feel when he tried to look around to get his bearings. He struggled to move, pains in his head and arm becoming stronger and stronger as he attempted to escape his bedridden state. He tugged his left arm, to feel the pinching of wires and syringes hooked into the synthetic systems and wires of his unmolested arm. Monitors began to beep, the sound alert itself speeding up more and more before V finally attracted the attention of the one person, he just couldn’t bear to look in the eye.

Misty had rushed to his side almost as soon as she had caught sight of V trying to escape the confines of his bed. She’d seen V and Jackie come back looking rough, even worse than that in some cases. Yet when V had burst through the door of the esoterica she’d almost screamed aloud when she caught sight of the bloody, mutilated mess that V was in. Jackie was nowhere to be found, and in his cries and whimpers, as Misty brought the bloodied solo to Vik’s surgery, she could hear him muttering the words ‘sorry, Jackie’ over and over again. The worst confirmed from what she’d heard, she’d steeled herself for as long as possible.

She took a nearby syringe, a mixture of painkillers and awareness-boosters for V to be able to push through the pain, but to be able to knock back the burgeoning feelings of falling back into unconsciousness again. He’d stopped panicking, the wires he’d pulled out being slowly (and gently) placed back into what remained of his arms and his neck. Fresh bandages covered his missing eye, blood only starting to leak through the stitches and inevitable scarring.

“V.” Misty managed to whisper from next to him, pulling a chair next to his bed. “It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re gonna be fine.”

V mewled something unintelligible, his missing hand failing to pull the weight of his body, resulting in him limply falling to his side. Misty quickly lifted him up by the shoulders, raising him up against a set of furry pillows. “I… I can’t see. I can’t… my arm.”

Misty’s eyes fell to the floor, slowly turning to see Vik typing away at his computer, ordering more stock for the clinic. “You, you lost them on the job. Me and Vik had to patch you up, clean you up and make you look presentable.”

The solo was silent for a moment, his remaining eye slowly taking in everything it could from its limited point of view. He raised his arm, drastically shortened in length due to his own amateur surgical attempts, and bandaged tightly by his carers. He could ever so slightly make it the shine of a silver elbow joint, surfaces around his arm converted to pure silver, with no synthetic skin to cover the prosthesis. His arm fell, limply hitting the surface of the bed as he looked away from Misty.

“V…”

“Don’t,” he whispered, lifelessly. “I can’t.”

“V, it’s okay. I already know.”

“I just,” V sputtered, his remaining hand trying to hide the tears. “I had to fucking leave him. I tried to catch him but I couldn’t and I had to leave him.”

Misty remained quiet as V was wracked with memories of the robbery gone wrong. She’d had her worst fears confirmed by the news, as well as the pained whispers of one of her best friends. Jackie had died at Konpeki, killed by security forces and was unfortunate enough to fall to his death instead of being apprehended. There was still bad news to come, but she didn’t know if V could even handle it in the state that he was in. She’d tried to soothe, to calm his chakras and to align them whilst he was unconscious. Vik and her had already done everything they could to help him through the pain. Removed what remained of his sliced open eye, cleaned his wounds and readied him for more cyberware, but the damage to his arm was brutal and looked self-inflicted. Whatever remained of the synth-skin and metal underneath had to be removed from the shoulder down.

Viktor had let her take the next few days off, they’d heard the news together but she couldn’t allow herself to falter when V still needed help. She kept herself calm and maintained something akin to a silent vigil whenever she could find the time. Jackie had been something else, different but familiar in a way. He’d been one of those who embraced the future, yet remained close to his traditions. His beliefs in the Santa Madre and an Abrahamic God, allowed him to show some interest in her own views of the world, through the tarot cards and her beliefs in reincarnation. She hadn’t really met somebody who was really stuck in tradition, her closest reminder being the Valentino gangbangers who would still keep a copy of the old Bible but other than that? Nothing.

“I’m sure you did everything you could, V.”

“He probably died thinking that I hated him. Just because of a few fuckin’ eddies, Jesus, what a fuckin asshole.” V lamented from the bed. “I’m sorry, Misty. I tried, I really fuckin’ did.”

Misty shook her head, refusing, willing herself to not cry. “V, stop. Please.”

“Misty, I…”

“V, please,” Misty begged. “I know you did everything you could, I know you wouldn’t leave him there if you had a choice. It wasn’t your fault; Jackie had already said there was always a chance it could go wrong…”

“But I…”

“But nothing, V. It’s happened and now we have to keep going for him. He wouldn’t want us to keep lingering on his death, he’d want us to remember him for how he lived.”

Once again, V was silent. He didn’t know much about Misty, apart from what Jackie had told him and what she herself had said whenever the two could find a small space of conversation. V could see that some of her eyeshadow had been wetted by the tears she’d eventually allowed to fall. He himself couldn’t shed one, his Kiroshi visor wasn’t fitted to his tear ducts and without his natural eye, that was already a no-go. The one time he wished he hadn’t sacrificed parts of his humanity so willingly for power, and yet he couldn’t take it back anymore.

_What’s one more piece to throw away, I’ve already thrown most of myself away anyway. At least now I can actually see that I’m not pretending to be something I’m not anymore._

V and Misty were quiet for a moment, and with a small movement, Misty had allowed her hand to fall upon V’s mechanical prosthesis. The touch, whilst weird to the solo, was warming to the new part of himself. The silence between the two, other than the ambient beeping of machinery as well as Viktor’s incessant tapping of his keyboard and phone calls provided enough sound for the two to not be awkward with each other.

“How…” V coughed. “How long was I out for?”

“Four days. We closed up the shop and surgery for most of the first two days.” Misty revealed. “Needless to say, Vik was coated in blood and oil by the end, so was I but, it was worth it.”

“Had some fun playing nurse?” V managed to joke, his minute smile wilting away as soon as he said it. “What’s the damage?”

“Damaged eye, lacerations across the back, concrete shards lodged in your gut, and the arm. Most of it was the arm and eye.” Misty spoke, wiping away at her ruined makeup. “I know you wouldn’t have wanted us to do it but…”

“But?”

“It was a matter of life and death. The eye-wound was already infected and if we didn’t take the arm off, well, let’s say you probably wouldn’t be awake right now. You’re a tough nut to crack, with all that sub-dermal armour and stuff…”

“Militech’s finest, at your service.”

“V, there’s something else.”

The solo’s remaining eye squinted, looking at Misty with an almost-scowl. “What happened?”

“We had to remove the chip from your slot. The woman that arrived, she said she needed it and took it without a word. Didn’t even give you a second glance really, haven’t heard from her since but that’s not the issue.”

The mercenary had remained still as Misty spoke. The awareness-boosters were slowly starting to kick into effect, his memory slowly coming back to him as he remembered the vivid hallucinations of his escape from Konpeki Plaza. Fighting through hordes of Arasaka goons, running through corridors of a skyscraper that V was definitely unfamiliar with. Something from the chip had transferred to his brain, data transferral straight from the biochip to the neural nodes of his CPU just before he began butchering his body for the sake of the contract, it was necessary. It had to be done.

“Misty, give it to me straight.”

“It’s not terminal, V.” Misty managed to smile, it was the one thing she could smile about. “Your OS, Militech Sandevistan, it took one for the team and isolated the harmful data but couldn’t get rid of it all. It’s sort of, I don’t know, Vik said it was stuck in your head. It was a personality engram.”

V shook his head, confused. “The chip, it wasn’t damaged when I got my eye taken out? I thought physical trauma would have really fucked with the system.”

“Data was already set in the system before you got hurt, it’s safe and tucked away. You know, Jackie never said anything about stealing a Relic from Arasaka.” Misty inquired slowly, focusing on V now as he tried to move his bandaged arm. “You were going to make a fortune, why?”

“I don’t know.”

“V, that’s bullshit and we both know it. That job was bigger than any of us, too big even.”

V regretted even talking about the job with Jackie, let alone thinking about the actual job. “It would have meant a clean break, for everyone involved. Now, well, back to reality for all of us. Worse so.”

Another eerie silence fell between the two of them, at least before Misty kept the conversation going. “Mama Welles came by, with some of the Tinos. Asked us if she was going to lose another boy.”

“I only knew her for a few months,” V muttered. Had he really been with them for that long, he knew he’d met her before he lived with her for that sequence of hiding. “I’m not one of her kids.”

Misty wiped away some more tears with the arms of her jumper. “She, well, she doesn’t see it that way, V. You looked after Jackie as well as you could before the job. You did the best you could, for him and for Mama Welles. I think she might want to speak to you at some point about the funeral.”

Before V could even say anything, Viktor had finished tapping away at his keyboard and began his approach to the small hospital bed in the corner of the surgery. He’d affectionately called it V’s waiting room whenever he decided to waltz in, but this time there was no smile on Vik’s face, and he carried what looked like the rest of V’s new shiny prosthetic arm. The forearm down to the hand, all of it wrapped in a shining coat of silver paint. The doctor himself had said very little in that moment, with Misty moving out of the ripperdoc’s way so he could undo the bandages, attach the arm and make sure it stayed firm to the joint.

The ex-corpo didn’t know what else to say. He’d already paid off Vik more times than he could count, but something about Vik’s silence seemed sterner, as the stone-faced surgeon finally finished attaching the arm to his patient. He’d already walked off, readying the next optical implant. Before V could even utter another word about payment, Misty had already wired him up to the numbing machine, with V unable to move. Vik had already taken the latches off, his ripper tool keeping a hold of the new Kiroshi visor as Misty unwrapped the bandages around V’s eye.

Vik had to admit, V had perhaps taken the worst beating of his life or at least the worst one since he’d become one of Vik’s more common patients. Eyelids had to be replaced with synth-skin, delicately as to not destroy any vital lubricative organs that kept the eye socket healthy, scar tissue had to be removed so the optical device could fit. It hadn’t taken long before his new eye was wired up into his central operating system, allowing him full vision again.

“I know it ain’t the same as a natural eye,” Viktor admitted, cleaning off his tool with a nearby cloth, “but it is blue, so it’s one better than not being the original at all, I suppose. That arm has got a Muramasa mod installed on it, shiny red samurai blade installed in the forearm. I know it ain’t Militech black-ops issue, but it’s the best I could do.”

“Thanks, Vik,” V muttered, pulling himself up. “How much…”

“Nothing.”

“Vik, please.”

Viktor shrugged his shoulders before crossing his arms. “I’m not taking any more eddies of you, Kid. You’re the closest thing I got to a kid around here anyway, I did this because I cared about you, and Jackie. It’s a crying goddamn shame about what happened. I’m sorry, V. I know you and Misty were close to him.”

V nodded silently. If he was anything like he was when he was with Militech, then he probably would have shot back with something about Viktor’s bedside manner or the typical sympathetic way he spoke, like a doctor from a holo-drama. At that moment, however, he felt too empty to say something smart. If anything, he felt a burning hole in his chest, like someone was burning sulphur in his heart and allowing him to breath it all in. The heist flickered in his memory, moments where pain defined his very existence and where the loss was carved into his very being, physical and metaphysical.

“Look, V.” Vik started again, grabbing a case of syringes. “This personality engram, we don’t know it’s gonna react in your body. Have you been experiencing any side-effects since the data transfer?”

“Hallucinations. Seeing things that ain’t there. Walking in places where I ain’t ever been before. Seeing people, I know aren’t there. I don’t know, sensory blocks, too, I guess? It’s how I got my back and eye all fucked up.”

“Anything else, kid?”

V was unsure, did emotions count?

“I feel, just, so fucking angry. Like, I could rip through walls and doors to just, really hurt somebody. I got this rage, like, a burning fire in my chest. My lungs start feeling dry, shit. Am I gonna be okay?”

Vik nodded as his patient spoke, the case of syringes steady in his hand before he handed them to Misty. He began to write down some notes on a clipboard next to the bed, scribbling them down quickly before he took a syringe from the case. Misty had soon clipped the case closed again, with Viktor soon spiking V in the neck with the sharpened needle. The mercenary sighed loudly, as Vik pushed the plunger down before quickly extracting the metal, throwing the syringe away in the nearby garbage can. He nodded at Misty, who then handed the case of syringes to V. His new hand had begun to take some time, but soon picked up the case from the nurse next to him.

“Those syringes are a mix of Olanzapine and Digoxin. Should stabilise any hallucinations you get, as well as increase blood flow to some neglected areas. That arm should feel like any old arm after a few shots of that.” Vik lectured, the mercenary slowly moving before attempting to climb out of bed. “V, I would advise you as your friend to take it easy these next few days. You can’t be gallivanting around Night City like this.”

“Don’t got a choice, Vik,” V replied, pulling himself free from the wires and cables and machines. “Gotta job to finish.”

“V, as your doctor, you are severely injured. You still need to worry about rejection syndrome from the arm, especially if you take too much trauma.” Vik almost shouted, grabbing V by the arm.

V looked at Vik dead in the eye, a look of sadness mixed with a deadly determination. “Look, Vik. Just, tell me you’re with me and that’s all I need from you. I have to do this.”

Vik couldn’t look at the young man, couldn’t bear to look at him in the eyes. “V, I’m with you. Whenever you need me, just be careful kid. I don’t want to lose another kid in this place.”

The solo and the doctor took a moment for the other, with a small token of time where V and Viktor held each other tight in each other’s grasp in one hard hug. Viktor could feel the cold silver of V’s new prosthesis against his back. V soon let go, and Misty had soon offered to take V back to his place so Viktor could finally reopen the surgery for the rest of his clients. V accepted slowly, dressing in some baggy clothes and shoes before V and Misty drove off to Megabuilding Ten with V in the passenger seat. It didn’t take long for them to arrive, with Misty placing a small, delicate kiss on V’s cheek as he got out, muttering a small thanks to the woman before she drove off.

The walk up to his apartment was long, filled with meaningless chatter from every single soul that lived in the Megabuilding, people V would see every day whenever he decided to have a normal day. Chatter amongst families, kids chasing each other around the food stalls and vending machines. He got into the elevator with a crowd of people who barely noticed his presence, heading up to upper half of the Megabuilding, waiting slowly and painfully as the rest of the men, women and children got off at their stops.

He finally reached his floor, and in silence, he marched to his apartment. Shouts and hollers from Wilson, the gun store owner and some of the gym-bros that were working out and pumping iron landed on deaf ears as V made his way to his home. The door was locked, thankfully, at least Meredith was in his corner. Opening the door and then promptly closing and locking it, V closed the blinds to his window and turned off the holo-presenter. The silence of his room was deafening, V could hear nothing from the outside world and for once was thankful for the silence that he yearned for.

He stripped down, throwing the baggy, itchy clothes into the disposal. He didn’t want them, nor did he need them. He threw himself in the shower, allowing a mix of scorching and freezing water to pelt him. The feeling of the liquid run across his body provided him with the calm that he so desperately required. The one constant he had was his presentation, he needed to look good, if not for others but just for himself. As he drifted through memories of nothing, he allowed his new to try and move independently, brushing against his human as well as his synthetic skin in the water. The silver material felt alien, he’d spent so much time with a fake layer of skin over his previous augs he’d almost convinced himself that he was still just another natural human.

His new arm said otherwise.

He turned off the water, towelling and drying off quickly before he took the dog tags, he left on the stand under the bathroom sink and threw them around his neck. His name engraved in the steel, to remind him of his name and where he came from. Turning on the cold-water tap, he splashed his face with the cold streams before turning the tap off and looking into the mirror.

Behind him was a figure, almost similar to himself in some ways and different in others. Greasy, long and wavy black hair with a growing goatee, eyes hidden away behind opaque black aviators. A chain wrapped around his neck, a battered bulletproof vest with maroon leather pants and black leather boots. The body itself was out of place, glitches in his visuals made the man appear and disappear, only to reappear once more in the same position, leaning against the wall opposite V and the sink.

V was silent, observing the largest similarity between the two. He raised his new arm, the full silver prosthesis of his right high in the air as the figure raised his own silver hand, left arm up in the air as a cigarette lulled between his lips.

His eyes weren’t fooling him at all. He was looking at the data transfer.

Johnny Silverhand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the angst is coming in this chapter and will remain as a major element in the story, but what matters more right now is our new character that everyone's waiting for. No, it's not Panam. She's coming soon, I promise. You'll get your dose of romance as well as the side stories like Judy and Evelyn coming up, mostly in these following chapters.   
> -Apollo


	13. Devil Breaker

**_03/09/2077  
V’s Apartment, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**V had stared at the personality construct for a moment, the said moment was one of confused silence as he looked directly at the digitised man in front of him. The visual glitches had soon stopped, as well as the audio glitches, creating what looked like a completely regular (if he wasn’t a hologram) person, leaning against V’s pearl white bathroom tiles before he lit up a cigarette for himself.

“What’s your fuckin’ problem, you got an on-off switch or you just like what you see?” Silverhand sneered before he took a hit of his cigarette. “So, somebody decided to finally wake me up. That’s a nice fuckin’ arm you got there, think of that one yourself?”

V was somewhat shaken into silence. Misty and Viktor had said to him that the data inside the chip was structured in the form of a personality engram, it was quite literally a digitised man in a chip. In fact, V had literally transferred somebody’s literal embodiment of themselves into his brain. The chip was an Arasaka Relic, the Secure-Your-Soul programme the company had been running. He wasn’t stupid, but apparently, the heat of the moment made anyone desperate to do whatever it took. Apparently, sliding a personality chip in the slot sometimes had some unwanted side effects.

That was just the way things were in Night City, climb the ladder of chaos to make yourself legendary martyr or powerful overlord, or die trying. For once, it seemed like V had played a bad hand. Lost his friend, managed to lose more parts of himself and gained some kind of fucking digital tapeworm in his brain.

“You’re Johnny Silverhand.” V stuttered. “How the fuck are you, how are you even an engram?”

“At least you ain’t blind, kid. That’s something I can work with,” Johnny muttered, walking over to the window before slipping through the blinds. “Fifty-four fucking years of pure nothing. Shit, so this is what Night City looks like in twenty-seventy-seven? Still one great big shithole, times by two anyway.”

“You, you’re meant to be dead? Everyone’s been waiting for you to return, to save them for half a decade and you’re fucking dead?” V questioned. “What a fucking joke, what a great saviour you were gonna turn out to be.”

“Don’t give me shit kid, you weren’t even born during our time, shit was different back then. Better than it is now anyway.” Johnny muttered, inhaling from his cigarette heavily.

V shook his head, ignoring the construct as he manoeuvred his way to his wardrobe, sliding on some black combat cargo pants, tucking the legs into a large pair of heavy combat boots. Lacing up, the mercenary tried his hardest to keep his eye off the hologram as he wandered about, glitching through solid objects before he leant against the wardrobe at V’s side. The man’s eyes were unable to be seen, the aviators blocking the disappointed look in his eyes as he stood over his carrier.

“So, V.”

“You know my name?”

“I’m implanted in your mind, every memory, every thought and emotion? I know it, and likewise you to me. Well, hopefully, you should. Be a fuckin’ shame if you couldn’t see even a quarter of the fucked-up shit I got up to back in the twenties.” Johnny said, flicking his cigarette into non-existence. “So, you gonna tell me how some ex-corpo cunt got me transferred into their brain, or do I have to dig through that brain of yours to find out myself?”

V grumbled, ignoring the rockerboy as he quietly took a belt, clipping it around his waist before he attached two holsters to his belt. Johnny muttered something unintelligible about V’s life, the man continuing to ignore the rocker as he strapped two more holsters to his thighs, before sliding a knife strap around his left boot, Johnny noticing a black-steel Kobun knife sliding into the sheath as V continued to prep himself, walking into the armoury with Johnny following close behind him.

“So, you used to be some kind of Nomad, then you slipped into the military and then joined the corporations? Who the fuck did you piss off to fuck up your life that bad, that often?” Johnny drawled, jumping on top of the equipment table. “Honestly, you traded your entire life with the clans to what, fuck around and make some cash?”

V groaned. “If I knew you were gonna be such a pain in the fucking ass I’d never have put the chip in my head, you’re giving me a headache already.”

“Why, can’t handle the truth that you turned into some corporate whore because you thought you’d get to the top? Newsflash, nobody ever does.”

“Yes, thank you for your wisdom. You know, you’re a fucking terrorist to most people?” V argued back. “Not some heroic freedom fighter you think you are, you dropped a nuke on ‘Saka Tower.”

“Those people being some more corpo dog-bodies. And I gave people more than enough time to leave.” Johnny shot back.

Once again, V tried to ignore the older male as he continued prepping himself. Taking a small tank top and bulletproof vest and throwing it over his head, V quickly tightened the straps before taking a set of underarm holsters and sliding them over his shoulders. Taking a nearby duffel bag, V slowly began to take armaments and ammunition from off his wall. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, SMGs, all of them were loaded, safeties secured before being placed methodically into the bag. For a moment, Johnny had become silent too, watching the mercenary throwing everything as well as the kitchen sink into his glorified war bag. Straps, spare clothing, protective padding and first aid gear went into another duffel bag, stacked neatly as Johnny finally broke the silence.

“You know, you’re gonna need a lot more guns and a lot more people if you’re gonna take the fight to Arasaka’s door.”

V stopped, looking at Johnny. “What makes you think I’m going to Arasaka at all?”

Johnny chuckled, slapping his knees a few times in a slow rhythm, head bobbing along to his own beat. “Well, considering you just lost two friends in one job. I’d say that’s a cause for concern. You look like you’re gonna become exactly what you said I was.”

“I’m not gonna bomb a fucking high-rise full of office workers, Johnny. I’m no terrorist.”

Johnny laughed aloud. “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter, my young apprentice.”

V grimaced, taking a black leather strap, sliding it over his shoulder before attaching it directly to his chest. Sovereign, his sawn-off shotgun looked alluring from its spot on his wall. Taking a bandolier of shotgun slugs, V slid the gun into the strap, the bandolier was thrown over his shoulder before V picked up both bags and walked over to the front door.

Already, he’d slowly began to feel that burning feeling in his chest. He’d said to Vik that it felt similar to the effect of burning sulphur and breathing it indirectly, some sort of physical embodiment of the anger and rage he felt towards the people who had taken everything from him. Had he snapped, become unhinged and become exactly what he said he wasn’t? Become what Johnny was known for in the corporate circles?

The Megabuilding he lived in was just another hovel for the poor, and despite his home being small and no bigger than any other apartment in the complex, crime was still rife, even in the Megabuildings. V had locked the door to his apartment just in case, he’d rather not come home to find his entire stock of bourbon either missing or taken by some booze-addicted hobo in the night. Uncaring, V calmly walked past the stalls and groups of people that lived in the Megabuilding, some of them focusing on his state of dress and armament, others not caring.

“The one great thing about Night City, everything is so fucked you can just walk around dressed like a soldier and nobody gives a shit,” Johnny muttered in V’s head. “Nobody wants to become scavver bait, so carrying a damn hog on your chest looks fucking innocent in comparison.”

For once, V had managed to agree with something that Johnny had said. Night City was voted by the country as one of the worst places to live in the world, and for a good reason. It was a corporate oligarchy, one where the people at the top of the corporate food chain ruled the entire place, and the people below them? Inconvenient at best, a goddamn menace at worst. V had seen it himself, if taking out a corporate leaker or rat meant bombing a restaurant on a busy Saturday night, that shit got done whether somebody would object to it or not. Hell, he’d heard about Frankfurt and China Lake. Half of a government space agency that was against Arasaka privately colonising the moon had half of its board fried on the day of a vote to withdraw colony rights.

If anyone carried, it wasn’t like anyone cared anyway. Johnny was right, in theory, and in practice. Nobody wanted to get spiked by scavvers and harvested for spare parts, and V hated having to walk into some nest and rescue somebody, only to already find a dismantled, bloody corpse in their place. Hell, he’d even been threatened by them. Unlucky for them, they got take home buckshot instead of cyberware that night.

V walked past the gun store once again, ignoring Wilson’s calls again as he stepped into the empty elevator. For once, he’d managed to get an empty elevator to himself. The trip itself was ten minutes down to the ground floor anyway. If anything, he’d never have a quiet elevator ride ever again, especially not with Johnny inside his brain from whenever he stopped appearing.

“So, what’s the plan?”

V grumbled. “In regards to what, exactly?”

“You don’t just topple Arasaka immediately,” Johnny replied, pacing in front of the solo. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it definitely didn’t fall in one day either. You don’t just get to kill Saburo Arasaka, or, go after that borged-out fucker.”

“Careful there, Johnny, sounds like you got some anger issues,” V smirked, at least managing to pull something over the rockerboy.

Johnny glared through his glasses at V. His hair dangling in front of his eyes before he pushed it to side. “I could say the same thing about yourself, look at yourself. Angry motherfucker, why because he killed your buddy? Please, he’s done much worse to more people than you, and he didn’t give two shits then, guaranteed he doesn’t give ‘em now either.”

V stepped up, Johnny smirking as he stood face to face. “You don’t get to talk about Jackie like that, not now, not ever.”

“Why, you gonna slap up some digital personality to make yourself feel better. Imagine what that’ll look like, first cyberpsycho attack of the day, MaxTac incoming?”

The solo had to groan audibly, the engram laughing loudly in his ear. “Do you ever just, I don’t know, shut the fuck up at all?”

“You think I’m bad? Damn kid, you never met Kerry or Boa-Boa.” Johnny admitted, lighting up another cigarette out of existence. “Ain’t nobody like them around anymore, bitchy, but fuckin’ legends. Anyway, come on, lay it on me?”

“Kick up some rocks till Arasaka pays attention.”

Johnny moaned, leaning back as if he were about limbo. “Buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiit.”

The elevator ride finally stopped, and Johnny suddenly flickered out of existence, leaving V with a small amount of peace. Moving from the elevator, V slipped past the crowds of citizens and NCPD officers on the street before crossing the road to the nearby parking complex. Climbing up the tarmacked roads and to the first floor of the complex, V was greeted by his ever-present Outlaw GTS. The hypercar, somehow, hadn’t been vandalised or stolen. Something happened to still be looking over V’s shoulder, or to be more accurate, somebody that wasn’t Johnny Fucking Silverhand.

He'd opened the trunk of the car as he approached, throwing his heavy duffel bags into the boot of the car before closing it with force, sliding into the driving seat before he took a heavy, languishing breath as he allowed his head to just rest on the steering wheel. For a moment, he was distanced from the rest of the city, the car sealing itself away from the noise and bustle of the city.

“That friend of yours, you know him long?” Johnny muttered; legs kicked up against the dash as he sat in the passenger seat.

V grunted in the affirmative. “First friend I made when I got let into the city. Saved my ass from being some homeless fuck-up.”

Johnny nodded. “I feel ya, kid. Reminds me of a few friends too, if they’re even still around.”

“What do you even care, you were fuckin’ me around five minutes ago,” V grumbled as he turned on the car, slowly pulling out of the parking complex. “It’s true and you know it.”

The rockerboy had already started fiddling with his silver prosthetic. “Because if you want to some goddamn vengeance, you’re gonna need to start properly. You want some closure, to start.”

V and Johnny were silent for most of the drive, V not speaking for the drive as soon as he realised that he was speaking to himself, or at least it would look like he would be if he was around people that didn’t really know his condition. He wasn’t exactly stupid enough to let everyone he met know that he had the engram of a long-dead terrorist in his head, that a corp would probably want to regain as soon as possible.

That and Johnny had soon allowed him to know that whenever he needed to speak, inner thoughts could work just as well if he was ever with a crowd or with somebody else. V hadn’t responded, his thoughts remained on the one thing Johnny had said that had made any sense, the one thing that V really cared about since he had woke up. He’d fucked up with Jackie in life, and never got the chance to make right with him.

At the very least, he could make shit right with him by doing him one more solid. Misty had mentioned a funeral, but there couldn’t be a real funeral without a body.

“What do you know about closure, Johnny?”

“I know that if you’re looking for where Arasaka gets rid of shit they don’t need, we need to go to the Ho-Oh in Westbrook,” Johnny muttered. “Arasaka has done the same thing for years, ain’t ever changed.”  
**- _  
The Ho-Oh Club, Westbrook District  
Night City, California  
V_  
-  
**The haunted Solo had soon pulled up in the car park of the Ho-Oh Club, another club similar to Lizzie’s Bar. The only difference?

Tyger Claws ran the damn shop, Japanese gangoons that emigrated from the land of the rising sun bringing their own versions of gang warfare to Night City. From what Johnny had said on the trip to Westbrook, they were just an Americanised version of the Yakuza, something that had already been industrialised by Arasaka in the corporation itself. Blackmail, extortion, threats, it was no different to what used to happen at Militech. The only difference was that they were much more violent in how they got rid of issues, they tended to like to make an example, in brutal fashion.

“So, you wanted to visit another club?” V asked, watching the building as Johnny fully materialised. “Closure, my fuckin’ ass.”

“Bigger picture, V. I’m gonna walk you through it, just to prove that we can work on this together,” Johnny replied. “Tyger Claws, dirty fuckin’ rats just like always. Since twenty-twenty, they’ve been inextricably linked to Arasaka, like a fucking parasite, getting rid of issues for them. Now, look behind us, across the street, what do you see?”

“Butcher’s shop and storage unit,” V stated.

Johnny nodded, fidgeting with V’s car freshener. “The club, and the butcher store, owned by the Claws. You know what they do in butcher stores, V?”

“I can take a guess.”

V turned off the car, the hypercar’s loud humming stopping suddenly as the solo got out of the car. His Sovereign was loaded, and V soon checked the security around the club as well as the butcher store. From what he could tell, and from his own personal tastes, the only places that sold genuine meat for profit were the butcher’s (selling in bulk) to the street vendors who could never make up for the taste of synthetic foodstuffs. Hell, V didn’t mind eating the real thing but synth-food was just a cut above everything else. He’d walked around Kabuki, tried the street food, and whilst it was okay, it wasn’t great either.

The more he thought about it, the more he was angered. How Arasaka had probably painted V and Jackie as a pair of two-bit thieves that ‘murdered’ Yorinobu, the noble son of Saburo. Two-bit criminals, the scum of the earth, wasted oxygen. V would show them, he’d swore to himself internally that he was going to pay Smasher back for every single thing he’d ever done. Murdering Jackie, trying to kill him.

That advisor, Goro Takemura. He’d be next unless he thought getting between himself and Smasher was a good idea. V couldn’t wait to gut the bastard; he’d take his eyes first. They looked like they were natural eyes too, he’d show that corpo-fuck what it meant to take away what made him feel like a human. If he had to play pretend ninja, he’d do it as long as he got to drag him to hell.

“You know much else about this place, Johnny?”

“Only that it’s Tyger Claw territory, maybe you can take it apart with some force,” Johnny grunted, unhelpfully. “It seems to be the only way to make these cockroaches understand, you play with corpo-rats, anyone with a grudge is one day gonna royally fuck their shit up.”

“Well,” V finally crossed the road towards the store. “today is the fuckin’ day.”

V entered the store, a kindly old Asian man at the counter wearing a white apron, some of it covered in streaks of aged blood. “Ah, welcome, come in come in! What can I do for you?”

_Hey, V, you wanna cap the old man?_

As soon as the man had finished speaking, V had regretfully pulled out the sawn-off from his strap and aimed it the elderly man. His face did not betray much feeling, he knew enough that if the man tried anything, he’d have a chest filled with buckshot quicker than he could say ‘for the emperor’. V kept the gun aimed directly at the man’s chest, silently wishing the man had some sense.

“Tell me where the Claws are, and you won’t have to worry about the Claws crawling about your shop when I tell Wakako Okada they’ve been working for Arasaka.”

The old man seemed to be wiser than he looked. “In the back, through the storage rooms. I’ll unlock the doors, just, please don’t cause any more trouble than you have to.”

“Good choice.”

The old man walked round to the back, the younger solo following close behind him with his sawn-off still tight in his grip. His new arm twitched a little, something to do with the mod inside the forearm again. It was never going to match up to his old arm, Militech black-ops gear was pretty much above the top-of-the-line stuff they had on the market, and they had even offered replacements after-action. He missed the preemo medical insurance, the platinum Trauma Team privileges where he was pretty much an international priority in the entire city.

The two had soon reached a large steel door, the old man unlocking it quickly. “If you’re looking for their owner, it’s Mr Shobo. He should be in the office above the storage.”

“The Devil of Kabuki, he’s here?”

“Oh yes, he’s here. You have heard of him, yes?”

V nodded. “Heard of him from Miss Okada, man’s a fuckin’ freak. Addicted to X-BDs, snuff smut, Moxes got an order on him because of what he did to a couple of their girls a few months back.”

“Yes, yes, you get rid of the Devil, you do very well for Moxes. Go, go, before they see.”

V snuck through the door, immediately into a cold room where the chill was felt quickly in his bones. A storage room for meat, a small space of it as such was packed to the brim with carcasses ready to be butchered by the old man. However, as V snuck behind a small table, the animal carcasses were slowly abandoned for body bags. Hanging from meat hooks like cows ready to be disembowelled, V slinked into the shadows. A nearby Claw was lingering too far away, a group of six guards malingering around without their one lost lamb. V had swiftly wrapped his arm around his neck, kicked his legs out from under and dragged him out of sight, snapping his neck without any semblance of mercy.

Using his cyberdeck, V soon scanned around the room, his hacks disabling the cameras and isolating them from the security system as he snuck through the large storage room, using the carcasses as cover as he slowly eliminated two more Claws within mere seconds of each other. Sliding his shotgun into his sling, V activated his single monowire, and just as one more guard approached the cow carcasses, V had already garrotted the man, pulling the filament string taut against his windpipe, hearing a smooth crack before the body thudded to the ground. The remaining three guards heard the sound of the crumpling body, but before they could find the man who had done it…

V had already vanished behind them. In the shadows behind them, the shuffling of metal sounded throughout the room, and those three guards were soon very little other than corpses on the floor. Heavy machinery like grinders and furnaces were still turned on, the sounds of the brutal metals ripping through flesh wouldn’t have been audible from up in the office of the storage.

Making his way up to the office, V had readied his shotgun, the Muramasa blade that emerged from his silver arm was slaked with the blood of the last three guards. It wasn’t a Mantis Blade, but the versatility of the blade itself, twisting and readjusting via the axles in his arm made him more flexible and agile when using it. Opening the office door, the savage degenerate known as the Devil of Kabuki was unaware of the black-clad spectre behind him, happily watching something at his desk. The computer display in front of him was on, the sick material that V had suspected was being viewed by the man himself. He knew that some people liked BDs because the experience of feeling another’s emotions, but something about X-BDs made him feel sick to his stomach.

Sneaking up on the man, his shotgun was soon placed against the back of the man’s head. The Muramasa soon placed directly under his throat, V had soon rotated the blade so he could turn to look at the man in the eye, the man dressed in a fine pink suit as he watched the display with fascination and vigour, his breathing heavily warped with excitement. V turned to look at the computer screen, his sawn-off blowing the display to bits as he turned to look at the vulgar gang boss.

“I’ll ask this question once. Which body did you get from Konpeki Plaza, from Arasaka?” V growled; his shotgun soon placed between Jotaro Shobo’s legs. “Do not lie, or so help me god I will take my fucking time with you.”

The Tyger Claw looked at V, dead in the eye. “You know who you’re fucking with, gweilo?”

Wordlessly, V fired the remaining shell, ripping through Shobo’s waist and genitals. He’d shortened his lifespan to around two minutes before blood loss got to him. The Muramasa was soon aimed at Jotaro’s heart. “Which bag is the thief’s from Konpeki, and I’ll make it quick.”

“E-9! The, the bag is labelled E-9, that’s the one with the cholo Tino ganger in it! I swear!”

“Good.”

V’s Muramasa performed a chiburi, the blood shaking off the red steel blade before it was stowed safely away inside the silver arm of V. The agonised screams of the Devil of Kabuki were drawn out, languishing as he clutched at the ruins of his manhood. V would have offered mercy, as usual, but he had his own rules. He’d never offer an early end to a child trafficker, not one who gave out the pain as much as he liked to watch. His pained howls lingered throughout the storage, V ignoring them as he cut down Jackie’s body bag from its hook.

The solo couldn’t take the time to look, his late friend’s reflection could be seen in the body bag. V slid his shotgun away, before picking up the body and walking out of the butcher store. He’d nodded to the old butcher as he placed Jackie delicately in the back of his car before he’d shot off to the Coyote Cojo.  
**-  
_El Coyote Cojo, Heywood District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The Valentinos, as weird as they were in their beliefs and culture, were the one gang that didn’t actively repulse V to the core.

Were they evil? Pretty much. V had heard tales of how brutal and aggressive the leader, Gustavo Orta could be when he needed to be, but other than that, he hadn’t associated enough with them directly enough to care about them. He knew Padre Ibarra was heavily invested in their activities especially as their fixer, but he was a watchful eye too. He had rules for them, and if they broke them?

Well, V knew well enough that the Padre paid well for V to take care of those who refused to follow the ways of the Valentinos to the letter.

Gustavo had thanked V personally when he parked up at the back of the Coyote Cojo, Jackie was one of them a long time ago, and a brother in the Tinos then was a brother in the present. Jackie still had the tats to show he was a part of them, and Gustavo had respected Mama Welles too much as an elder to show her any disrespect. V was silent when he was offered a monetary reward, declining it promptly.

“I didn’t do it for the cash, Gus.” He’d said plainly, as a group of Tinos took Jackie’s body to prepare it for the funeral and future ofrenda. Gus had soon pointed V to Mama Welles as she came out from the back of the bar.

V had approached slowly. He hadn’t seen Mama Welles in weeks, only when Jackie was alive could he actually manage to look her in the eye and pretend to not be awkward or somewhat guilty. As much as Old McCall had been his father, Guadalupe Alejandra Welles had been the closest thing that V had to an actual mother. She’d treated him just like he was Jackie’s brother, and V had taken it for granted.

Mama Welles hadn’t ever seen V or Jackie armed to the teeth, but she wasn’t stupid enough to assume they did innocent work. Nobody in Night City ever did, everyone had something on the side. She looked at the man in front of her, clad in black combat gear, the ornate shotgun strapped to his chest before she opened her arms to V. She had already noticed the large scar over his left eye, the colours in both eyes changed, from a natural blue to synthetic blue and hazel in the left and right eye respectfully.

V was one of her own, and just as Jackie had been her son, V would always be one of her own too. As V fell into Mama Welles’ embrace, she refused to cry as V allowed himself to release the pained, silent sobs he’d been keeping inside since he’d lost his best friend, since she had lost her son.

“Thank you, V,” Guadalupe said, comforting the larger man, “thank you for bringing my son back to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something of a hybrid chapter this, you get Johnny's first impressions of V and vice versa, but also V taking matters into his own hands. Tyger Claws and Arasaka have always been linked together due to their Japanese ties, so that's why they are included as the main antagonist of the chapter. The Devil of Kabuki is a small antagonist in the game, one that is actively wanted dead by the Moxes, who happen to be my favourite gang.
> 
> Also a little mourning between Mama and V. Hopefully, you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it!  
> -Apollo


	14. Make You Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the Judy/Evelyn arc kicked off. Next is the real ones we've been waiting for, our favourite NC Fixer and the cute Nomad that definitely doesn't get on with her. It's all happening, and it's happening next chapter. I've slow-burned you enough for now, but be warned. This romance arc, boy you will hate me.  
> -Apollo

**_04/09/2077  
Lizzie’s Bar, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**V had managed to find some time after he’d left the Coyote Cojo where he could sleep. He’d parked his car up and went back to the apartment to sleep, showering quickly before he immediately left the apartment and went back to the car. Once again, he’d geared up as he had done the day before, but without Johnny constantly threatening to make him want to blow his own head off, he’d managed to survive the early morning.

Barely.

That meant Johnny was still around, the thought whilst not terrifying or life-threatening, was as annoying as Johnny’s grating ranting and raving as the engram continued to dig through V’s memories. V had soon been more collected when the rocker was silent, digging through his memories with the occasional auditory comment, whether it was a dig or an (admittedly rare) compliment.

_“Jesus, what sad fuck are you to leave the Nomads to just go sign your life away to an army and then some president’s private militia?” Johnny had asked from the passenger seat. “Might as well have suck-started that shotgun of yours, would’ve been prettier than sitting through that shit you call life so far. It’s worse, you left because you tried to be the good guy and get some pussy!”_

V didn’t look at the materialised rockerboy. “Didn’t have anything to live for when I left the Aldecaldos, simple as. Wasn’t even me leaving, I got forced out.”

_“You know, I was in the army once…”_

“Bullshit,” V muttered, “you look like you haven’t served a day in your life. Think just because you read a few philosophical tomes and screamed about the corps you got an idea of what it’s like?”

_“Maybe, you stop giving me so much shit and maybe we can get along well enough to start tellin’ each other our dirty little secrets.” Johnny harrumphed, leaning back in luxury in his seat. “Respect, you know, it goes both ways, kid.”_

V grunted. “Maybe you should take your own advice there, Silverhand. Stop giving me shit, maybe we can actually start being civil.”

The digital remains of the rockerboy huffed roughly, as V drove through the streams of Night City traffic until he made his way back to Lizzie’s Bar. He’d done what he needed to do in getting Jackie’s body away from the butchers of the Tyger Claws and away from Arasaka, given them to the people who he knew would respect his way of life and bury him properly, and with honour. Mama Welles was well-known in circles of the Valentinos, she’d been an advisor to Gus Orta for many years since he’d been running the gang, that and she was a tough woman from V’s experience in living under her roof.

His next objectives? Whilst however unlikely, he needed to find Dex DeShawn and see what he knew about that job. It was his job that got Jackie and T-Bug killed, and Evelyn had already taken the Relic from V’s comatose skull and ran away with the prize. To V, she must have known that she was keeping something out of the limelight when it came to the job brief. She said she wanted a Relic, with the data intact. She got the Relic, but she didn’t have the data. V was too busy conversing with the data that she wanted; he already knew she didn’t have what she really needed.

Dex DeShawn had turned into a ghost, which meant his next step was finding Evelyn. Lizzie’s Bar would probably have been her little hideaway when Arasaka went all-out in trying to find what they had lost. Judy was still tight with the Mox as their techie, and V knew that if he played his hand properly with Judy, he’d get something to start his hunt for the runaway client with his chip.

Taking his shotgun from its sling and taking off his under-arm holsters, he got out of his car as the rocker-turned terrorist released himself into non-existence. Approaching the front door, he spotted the doorwoman he’d seen the last few times he’d been at the bar, baseball bat tight in her grip. White skin, almost shining as she bared her midriff and upper chest to anyone who cared to look. V was brave, he liked the look, he wasn’t brave to comment on her though, she had a nasty rep for smacking pervs and weirdos when they would walk out of Lizzie’s, drunk and probably down and out for the night.

V approached the doors, arms outstretched as he walked towards Rita in such a cocksure manner, she couldn’t but at least crack a little smile. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Hello playboy, fancy new toy you got there. You know what they about guys with silver hands.”

“Oh yeah, you wanna take it for a spin, Wheeler? Show you what I can really do?” V joked. In all fairness, the Mox weren’t really a gang to him. Vigilantes more like, protecting a group of people that couldn’t protect themselves.

“In your dreams, V, in your wildest dreams.” Rita laughed, swinging the bat round to the floor like a cane. “Heard some interesting things coming from the Ho-Oh Club, something about some guy with a silver arm walking into the butcher across the street and blowing apart the Devil of Kabuki and leaving ‘im to bleed out. Wouldn’t have heard anything about that, would ya?”

V shrugged with a smirk. “Can’t say I did, but you know, whoever did it sure did some girls around here a favour. Especially some of the younger girls for here.”

“It’s appreciated, even if you’re tryin’ to keep a low profile and all. Suzie Q was glad to hear it, said if we ever caught the guy, he’s welcome whenever he wants.” Rita explained as V leant against the wall next to her. “So, you know, VIP privileges seem to be a premium package for our knight in shining armour.”

“I’ll have to come around more often then, see what those privileges entail,” V replied, winking at Rita on the sly as the two laughed. “Is Judy in?”

“You already know the answer to that, probably sniffing through smut BDs to get the best kicks out of ‘em, as always. She’s been out of whack, lately, anyway.”

V quirked at that. “Oh yeah? Mind if I ask why?”

“Go ask yourself, she’s down in her lab. Oh, and get a drink on the house. I’ll tell Maurice and Matteo when they come that it’s on me.”

“Thanks, Wheeler, you’re a doll.”

“Don’t you know it, stud.”

V gave a playful pat on the shoulder to the Mox bouncer as he entered the club with her permission. Usually, the place was packed to the brim with Watson residents and denizens from the other parts of the city looking for some urban delight in the form of a dancer or some BDs cooked up from Judy’s lab. He’d walked to the bar and took a bottle of Estrella Galicia from the nearest fridge, popping it open off the bar top before he headed into the VIP lounge and from there, straight down to the basement.

An impending sense of déjà vu began to creep into V’s body, walking down the same path he had done with Evelyn before he met Judy for the first time, the cat and mouse game of what the actual job entailed, the proposition of a fifty-fifty cut that sounded way too good to be true. Johnny had skipped past him, glitching around him with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The rockerboy huffed the depiction of the stick of nicotine aggressively before he slammed himself harmlessly into the wall beside the door into Judy’s laboratory.

_“You were too busy thinking of all that cash that you didn’t see that you were gonna get played either way, weren’t you? Thought you could fuck with Militech and Arasaka and get away without somebody taking something away from you? Damn, you got bitch-slapped right back down to earth, kid.”_

V tried to ignore him. “Laugh it up, asshole. I fucked Militech before I left, figuratively and literally.”

_“Oh, believe me, I know all about you fuckin’ the saucy little domme, or how she likes to really break you down whenever she needs something. Interesting tactics, quite literally fucking the opposition.”_

“Whatever, Silverhand, least I ain’t dead.”

_“Ouch, that’s a low blow, V.”_

The mercenary flipped Johnny off mentally, ignoring the rockerboy’s feigned attempts at trying to make V feel somewhat guilty for his words. V ignored the man, walking through the double doors into Judy’s darkened lair, nothing much had changed other than the small amount of light that was coming through the open doorway. V sipped silently at the beer bottle, watching Judy from her desk as her hands floated in front of her chest, BD visor attached as she flicked and twisted at the air in front of her, the holographic displays that V couldn’t see probably editing the braindance just right so that Judy could sell them off for a high profit for herself and the Moxes.

Sometimes, living on the street with some decent people meant that V could at least have a semblance of a normal life. Other than being a solo fixer for whoever needed him, he could always just kick back at the end of the day at Lizzie’s and drink quietly at the bar with pounding techno lazrpop in his auditory systems, maybe hit on a chick and see if he got lucky. Those thoughts died off when he realised that normality was something that he wouldn’t see much of in the future. Hell, he’d said goodbye to normality as soon as he lost an eye, an arm and yet gained a literal talking voice in his head.

V couldn’t tell if it was either good luck or bad luck, he’d been put on a path with no exit. He was just riding the waves, the waves that would hopefully give him what he wanted most.

He’d soon placed the beer bottle to his lips, slurping loudly before he’d finished off the contents of the Spanish beer. Throwing it between his hands, he’d soon thrown into a nearby empty barrel, the glass reverbing in the metal container which soon prompted Judy to finish up the editing process on the braindance. Taking off her headset, she turned around to see a black-clad figure, and she had already reached for a weapon that was nowhere to be found.

“Hold it there, techie. Ain’t here for trouble. Just looking for Evelyn.”

Judy stopped, focusing for a moment on the voice before she turned on the lights, looking at the presence in her lab. “Wait, V? What the fuck, you almost scared the shit out of me, you damn gonk!”

“Sorry, Jude, couldn’t help it. How you been?”

“Woah, hold up, _amigo_!” Judy exclaimed. “You just walked in here, after robbing the biggest company in Night City like it was nothing, and you ask, how I am? Are you skeefed?”

V shrugged. “Wouldn’t say I’m skeefed. Just, a little looser than I was when I met you, let’s say.”

“Yeah, I can tell from how you looked like you’re ready to go to war with the city. What happened? I heard about the explosions, and then the news said they got your friend and you were on the run. I guess that isn’t the whole story?”

The solo shook his head once. “Nowhere near even half of the story. Got caught by Adam Smasher, lost my arm and an eye if you couldn’t tell. Anyway, like I was saying, how you been?”

“Just peachy, V.” Judy deadpanned. “What’s up, why are you here, we ain’t even open yet?”

V approached, leaning against the wall behind Judy as she twisted around in her chair. “Looking for Evelyn, and since I got friend vibes between the two of you, was wondering if you knew where she was.”

Judy squinted at the merc in her room, scrolling over him as she took note that he wasn’t armed she relaxed. “You got a reason for looking for her that I won’t have to worry about?”

“Just some questions, about the payment for the job. She got what she wanted; I want what I’m owed. You know, services rendered, goods provided. It’s just business, nothing too personal.”

“That’s what all you mercs and solos say, besides, you look kitted out and angry as fuck. How do I know you ain’t gonna execute my girl on the spot?” Judy asked, arms crossed against the chest.

“Because that’s not what I want to do, I want a guarantee on my money and to make sure she hasn’t done what I think she’s done. That is, running to steal a score.”

“She ain’t like that, V. She’s more than just some selfish joy-doll out for cash.”

V nodded, seemingly uncaring about what Evelyn was, or what Judy was trying to make out that Evelyn was. V didn’t care that she was a joy-doll or that Judy worked for the Moxes. It didn’t matter, he needed info.

“Fine. I need info on the job, what she knew. Somebody didn’t mention that Saburo Arasaka and his advisor was going to be there. It’s either her or the fixer. Evelyn’s my only lead, Judy.”

The techie sighed, sitting up in her chair before she stood up and walked out of her room, waving for V to follow her. The two marched up the steps to the main floor of the bar, the lack of thudding bass and threadbare synthesisers made the place feel empty, especially considering how large the actual club was. Judy seemed to be a solid girl, and V whilst in spite of his corpo nature, wasn’t a back-stabber, it wasn’t in his nature. Not unless it was necessary for survival anyway, and neither Judy nor Evelyn had given him a reason for him to fear for his life where he needed to be violent.

He could understand that if Judy was covering for Evelyn out of fear for her safety, he would have done the same thing for Jackie if he were alive and Jackie had already proven that he would do the same for V. Again, it was just another concept in Night City that friends were rare to come by, and when they did, people would cling to them like a life raft in the rough oceans of vice and violence in the city. Following her past the private booths, VIP lounge and to the bar, Judy popped two more bottles of Estrella as she leaned against the bar top, V sitting opposite on a stool as he sipped lightly at the Spanish export.

“Look, V, I need a guarantee that you won’t hurt her. She’s, been too good for me since forever. It might not seem it with how she is, but I owe her. I need you to bring her back to me.” Judy almost begged.

V nodded. “I’m not looking to hurt her, Judy. That’s not why I’m looking for her, I just want to get some info and I’ll bring her back to you, I promise. No fees, consider it friends and family discount.”

“Good thing it is too, I ain’t exactly swimming in eddies, V.” Judy smirked, the two clinking bottles together before Judy gave in. “After she got her chip from you, she said she needed to go into hiding. Arasaka was, everywhere. She was here for a day but since then? She’s back at Clouds, working again.”

“Clouds?” V asked. “The Tyger Claws joy-doll house in Mega-Eight?”

“Right, but since she left I ain’t heard anything from her. I told her she’d be safer with the Mox, nobody would ever get inside without us knowing but she didn’t listen. If you’re looking, Clouds is the best place to start."

V necked the contents of the bottle quickly. “Thanks, Judy. I appreciate it. You ever need anything, give me a call. For you, or for the Mox.” He spoke, leaving the bottle as he stood up to leave.

“I’ll give Suzie and Rita your deets, oh, and V?”

“Yeah?”

“If you find her, or get more info, give me a call.” Judy requested, getting rid of the bottles. “I’m gonna need to see her as soon as possible, to make sure she’s safe.”  
 **-  
Clouds, Megabuilding Eight, Westbrook District  
Night City, California  
-  
**V had driven from Lizzie’s Bar slowly, the traffic having ramped up as the day went by quickly in the city. People always had somewhere to be, and Night City had gained status as a city-state of ginormous proportions, it had taken New York’s status as the city that never sleeps. Even though he was driving a fine car, given to him by his former employers, it never really meant much when traffic barely moved.

He’d sat in the car silently, the radio turned off when Johnny had managed to provoke him into listening into some heavy, guttural screaming that had appealed to the late rockerboy, and permanently traumatised V’s eardrums. The moment that V had arrived at the Megabuilding and had already gotten out of the car, the rockerboy had slipped out of sight and began speaking in V’s mind, and whilst his physical form at least gave V a sense of familiarity of speaking to somebody, the voice of Johnny in his head almost made him want to drive a screwdriver or a claw hammer directly through his Sandevistan OS implant so he could at least gain some peace.

_“Never thought that digging through your OS that the only time you’ve ever been here was on a business expense trip with your… battle-buddies in the special corpo-cunt force. VIP treatment too.”_

V sighed as he tried to ignore the rockerboy, ultimately failing. “Didn’t exactly plan to come here again either, joy-dolls aren’t exactly a hobby of mine.”

_Johnny laughed loudly. “Sure kid, that’s what we all used to say before it became convenient to use ‘em as a dump when shit got too real for all of us.”_

V had stomped through the familiar collections of stalls and vending machines, street vendors and beggars as he joined a crowd of citizens waiting for the main elevator to take them to the upper floors of the Megabuilding. The one thing he’d noticed about the populace of the mass home development was that unlike his own building, the civilians inside were all full-Asian or at least somewhat related to the race of eastern-living citizens from Japan. Masses of them with regular hair, the other half with bright, neon and luminescent colours such as pink, blue, orange, and white.

Moving to the fortieth floor, V had stepped off on his lonesome. Immediately, the presence of Tyger Claws was noticed as the Japanese gang had lurked around every street corner and vendor, each store and alley that curved around to another part of the Megabuilding that would have been guarded by more Tyger Claws. Walking past without looking at them directly, V soon headed past the signs that continued to point him to the joy-doll haven that was Clouds.

The place wasn’t exclusive, most places weren’t but Clouds had a VIP upper lounge for special guests. Johnny hadn’t been wrong; he’d been here before with some buddies from Cypher-9 when they’d get through a tough assignment. Of course, V hadn’t really been one for fake love and emotion, he’d drink a few neat cocktails and flirt a little before leaving to see Meredith. At least that way he’d not get his eddies rinsed from his wallet when he left the place, instead all he would lose was a sense of decency, common sense and a large part of his much-valued self-respect.

V entered the place, the dull greys and browns of the Megabuilding interior being replaced with a light mixture of white, pink and purple, calming and soothing sounds of the empty skies replacing the hustling of the Megabuilding citizens on the floors above and below. He’d walked over to the receptionist at the counter to the left, who’d dutifully turned to look at him and offered a jack-wire.

“Have you been with us before, sir?” she asked, as the computer began compiling information on the client. “Ah, it seems so.”

“Yes, I was wondering if my VIP access to the upstairs lounge was still available.” V had asked politely. “Need to relax a little, had a hard night yesterday.”

The receptionist smiled as the nominal fee for VIPs was taken from his account. “Of course, I understand completely, Mr V. Would you like a doll to come up to meet you or will you call down when you’re ready?”

“I’ll call down when I’m ready, thank you very much.”

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your stay.”

V had extracted the wire from his port on his prosthesis, walking past the counter and nodding along to those he passed with a curt smile. Everyone that ever went to Clouds was there for a specific reason of emptying themselves physically of stress and whatever issues they had accrued after living for too long in a place like Night City. Most of the people that V saw as he walked through were small-time corpo fish that might have just completed their first night shift at Militech or Arasaka. V could remember them perfectly, especially when he wasn’t the Deputy Director for Counterintelligence and Cyber Operations, the constant nights where he was contracted to work through the night, correcting leaks and making sure documents were signed off by the appropriate executives, whether it was in ink or blood.

There was no loyalty to corpo-rats, they did whatever they did for whoever they could as long as they had their own back covered. V himself was no different, he didn’t become a Deputy Director for Militech by just rolling over and letting people fuck him. No chance, and as soon as he stepped through the doorway and up the stairs to the VIP lounge, he was immediately treated to a free drink by the bartender. A cocktail, of an unspecified nature that seemed to smoke violently as if birthed from an alchemical professional, the dark red liquid having a thick substance to it as V slowly indulged in the alcoholic beverage, soon finishing it off before a server came to take the empty glass.

“Hey, is Mr Woodman in? If he is, could you ask him to come and see me, oh and two tequila Old-fashioned, thanks.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like for me to call up a companion for you, while you’re here?” the server asked, a serene smile on her face. “As compliments of the house for a VIP patron?”

_Johnny soon turned up, only to say his piece before leaving. “Most likely a behavioural chip, nobody likes working in places like these. Hell, the Claws haven’t changed. Fuck, this place makes me feel dirty even being here.”_

V thought about it for a moment, only to shake his head in the negative. “No, thank you. I’m only here for a quick meeting before I go back to HQ, just need to see the boss.”

“Of course, sir. Your drinks will be with you in a moment.”

V couldn’t help but at least steal a small glance at the waitress, some tight piece of ass that even he had to admit he wouldn’t have minded having a little pass at. Dressed in a small white dress, one that barely covered the curve of her rear. She couldn’t have been that young, but then again, V had to consider where he was. Night City, worst place, all the rage for those who wanted a roll of the dice.

_“Careful what you wish for V, she looked a little too young, even for your glaringly poor taste,” Johnny smirked as he sat opposite V on the opposing couch. “Jailbait.”_

“Get fucked, Johnny. That ain’t true.”

_Johnny laughed as he kicked back, lying down. “Yep, because what you saw in the butchers was just an innocent little animated video that the Devil of Kabuki hand-drew for his pleasure. Jeez, for somebody who was in the NUSA, you sure are naïve when you want to be. You think the Claws ain’t afraid of dabbling with children, you’re sorely fuckin’ mistaken.”_

It wasn’t long that V had to wait, and thankfully, Johnny had been quiet inside his head, although the deceased Rockstar never left his vision. It made V try to think of how Johnny Silverhand of all people had been contained in death as a holographic projection of his personality. He wasn’t crazy, or entirely terrifying despite his reputation as an alcohol-addicted, pill-swallowed anti-corpo terrorist rockerboy. If anything, he was notably calm about everything. Then again, maybe being an engram in somebody else’s head gave him too much to look through and sneer at for him to bother showing his true colours if he ever showed them at all.

It didn’t take much longer, and soon, a large leering presence had made his way over to the little seating fixture across from the bar, a shadow cast over V as the server dropped off the two tequilas as the figure sat down on the couch next to V. A barrel-like and bald man, dressed in a black pinstripe suit had taken one of the tequilas and already began slurping loudly as he waited for V take the final glass.

The man had already finished his drink, but V didn’t acknowledge his drinking like a fish. “So, I’m told you wanted to speak to the owner of this fine establishment, well. I’m here, what do you want?”

V nursed the drink. “I’ll be frank, Woodman. One of your girls, Evelyn Parker. She working here?”

“Ain’t ever had a girl of that name here, not recently anyway,” Woodman grunted, sliding the glass onto the table, that was soon picked up by the server. “Probably found a bigger fish to get away from here, like all the dolls. Ain’t my fuckin’ business what they do in their spare time.”

“Yeah, like you don’t keep an eye on them while they’re here. Don’t bullshit me, Woodman. Where is she?”

“As I said, corpo, I don’t fuckin’ know. If you’re gonna just bug me, get the fuck out, I got shit to do. That or the Claws will fuckin’ mince you if you don’t leave.”

V stared at Woodman, the man slowly staring back at the former Militech cyber-operative. “Speaking of the Claws, you know that they’re really running this place, don’t you? I’d suspect you’d know, you being the big boss man and all. How much is their cut, of the profits I mean? Must make some preemo smut here, shit, I think even I might be on the cams here if you go back far enough.”

“Hey, you wanna keep your voice down? Do you think your gonna fuckin’ intimidate me, in my own fuckin place? You got a deathwish, buddy? I can fix that right now if I have to.” Woodman growled.

V nodded, sipping at his drink slowly as he maintained eye contact. “Yep, because offing a VIP in your own place when he ain’t armed is surely gonna do wonders when NCPD comes down here to fuck your day up.”

“You ain’t gonna have time to even stand up, it’ll just happen, chrome-dome. NCPD won’t even find the body.”

“Just like they didn’t find the body of, ah, what’s his name. Jotaro Shobo?” V smirked, watching Woodman’s grinning sneer die. “He had another name, didn’t he? The Devil of Kabuki?”

“The, man from Kabuki, had a sudden accident, and that was it, that’s all I know.” Woodman quickly shot back, sitting straight up in his seat.

V smirked, finishing off the old-fashioned as he sat back in the black leather couch. “Yep, and that accident was me when he caught a shell to his parts and bled to death. That what you were thinking of, Woodman?”

The bulky and then-frowning owner of Clouds was silent, grimacing as the cyberized client sat back on his couch with a gleeful smirk on his face, watching with delight as the Tyger-backed entrepreneur squirmed across from him. Even so, Johnny had yet to leave V’s eye line, the rockerboy smirking as V began to toy with the owner of the establishment. V could have sworn that Woodman looked ready to throttle V then and there if he had the opportunity and know-how to get away with it. Woodman looked around, making sure the Claws weren’t looking before he slipped V a shard from his suit’s breast pocket.

The owner looked to have a little sweat on his brow. “Look, I ain’t lookin’ to be like Shobo. The guy was a fuckin’ freak, and that ain’t me, I swear. I’m a little guy, yeah, small fish, big pond, okay? That’s all I got, I swear, Evelyn, she fucked up, her augs went on the schitz and we sent her to our guy, Fingers. That’s it, I swear.”

V took the shard with a smirk, sliding it into his pocket before he stood up. “See, how hard was that, Woodman? Now, if I have to come back here and talk to you again, you will be like Shobo. And, tell that girl with the white dress to cover herself up, she looks barely legal. That’s more than enough to get you guys, nobody likes a predator, Woodman. _Adios, amigo._ ”

The ex-corpo had walked right out the lounge and out of the front door with an ill-hidden smirk as he walked past the Claws, and through to the main elevator. Joining the crowd of denizens as they all travelled down to the ground floor, V had already activated his holo as he picked out Judy from his contacts. As soon as the elevator had stopped, he’d pushed his way through the crowd quickly before he made his way to the car, slipping as he allowed the auto-drive function drift around the city as he called up the Mox techie.

“Judy, I got something on Evelyn.”

Judy seemed shocked, from the vid-feed. “Really, fuck, you work quick V. Was she at Clouds?”

V shook his head as the car slipped from one line of traffic to the other, slowly moving from Westbrook to the sub-district of Japantown as he moved down from the regular apartment blocks into the exquisitely decorated tourist trap that was Jig-Jig Street. “No, but I got something from the owner that she had a cyber-issue. Went to see Fingers to fix it, but she never came back. I’m going over now.”

“Wait, V, I’ll meet you there. Fingers works for the Moxes, very rarely. I can get you in.”  
 **-  
An hour later…  
-  
**There was a reason that Judy had arrived later than V had expected, and once more, it was to do with the rat race that was Night City traffic. The streams of people, street urchins, businessmen, corpos, they honked and hollered at each for whatever reason as they all battled to get where they needed to go quicker than somebody else. Most of the time, it erupted in physical violence that never lasted when somebody got cold-clocked and was left unconscious in their car seat.

Of course, traffic was even worse as the day went on, mornings were rough, but not as tough as the afternoon lunch rush, and then the worst was at night. As everyone scurried through whatever back-alley or side road they could to get home so they could go back to sleep or change themselves so they could party or drink or drug themselves into the early morning sunrise. He waited by a nearby sex store, whereupon he was confronted by numerous male and female joy-dolls on the street, all of which he had heavy-handedly rebuffed as Judy arrived from the bar.

“Sorry for being late…”

V waved it off. “Traffic is a bitch, I know. Don’t worry about it. You know where this, Fingers guy is?”

“Let’s go, choom. He’s got a clinic down here. How’s it been, quiet?” Judy asked. “Never feels like it changes down here on Jig-Jig. All about sex, drugs, lazrpop and then rinse and repeat.”

“Think you arrived just before the floods of tourists turned up, hopefully, we can get out before they arrive too.”

Judy laughed a little, as the pair began to move through the streets that were admittedly already flooded with dozens and dozens of the Night City populace as well as the people who had travelled from across the globe to witness some of Night City’s seedy underbelly in a safe way, or as safe as Night City could be. The Tyger Claws were littered around the red-light district of the city, and V managed to catch a glimpse of Wakako Okada as the shrivelled, old fixer checked on her pachinko parlour as the duo walked towards a darker, shadier part of the street.

The red-light district was usually filled to the brim with bright lights, red, purple, pink, blues and all other variations that would illuminate the streets for all of those who wandered into the street’s grasp. Joy-dolls would press those who walked through if they wanted a good time, if only for a quick exercise or for a night filled with entertainment and partying, drinks, drugs and sex to fill the soul with joy. Whilst it was a safe place, usually, it was no different to every other slimy backstreet with a couple of whores lingering in their hidey holes, conning or genuinely offering themselves for cash. Hell, even the Corpo Plaza wasn’t safe. High-class hookers (if V could call them that) were aplenty there, lavishing in their uppity lifestyles as they comforted the rich loners who worked for the corps when they came home from the daily corporate rat race.

Judy waved for V to follow her as they slinked into a building hidden at the furthest edge of Jig-Jig Street, the sign above the door lighting the way to ‘Finn Gerhardt's Cyberware Beauty Clinic’. It was no different to than some low-effort apartment block with some slightly-larger rooms. V and Judy managed to find the floor of the clinic and were stood in a small waiting room filled with more than a few joy-dolls waiting for their make-overs. V felt somewhat intimidating, the group of them all eyeing him up before ignoring him, occasionally giving him the side-eye before Judy marched up to the door and slammed down heavily on it.

“Fingers, open up!”

A dark-skinned joy-doll with bright pink hair immediately stood up and got up in the pair’s face. “Excuse me, bitch, can’t you see there’s a line?”

_Johnny suddenly glitched out of the nether and into V’s reality, standing right behind the joydoll. “Damn, this bitch really is asking for it, huh? If I were you, I’d smack her up before kicking that door in and breaking this guy’s hands. Maybe try that.”_

_“Just shut the fuck up for a second, Johnny.”_

Judy turned to look at this joy-doll. “No disrespect, but I don’t care about you getting your vag fixed up for the twentieth time today, so unless you want some Moxes at your door tomorrow morning, sit down and wait a little longer.”

“Excuse me, what did you just say?!”

V’s silver arm pressed down on the joy-doll’s shoulder, and with a sufficient amount of force, pushed her down back into her chair and kept her there. “She said to sit down and wait your turn. Now, stay there.”

The joy-doll soon went silent, and with enough time, Judy had cracked the door’s electronic lock and allowed herself and V to slink inside the clinic as she locked the door behind them. In front of them, was a surgical chair, occupied by another young Asian girl, with striking deep blue hair that reflected in the surgical lights. The actual room itself was about as hygienic as a damn pig stye, litter and used surgical implements tossed to the floor, wallpaper peeling from where it had set as bits of mould had begun to stick in the corners of the room. There was a distinct smell of blood, viscera and discharge as the gangly and scrawny surgeon had silently continued to weld a piece of metal to the girl’s face, her feet struggling in agony as the welding implement stopped and started.

He'd muttered something between welding sequences. “Keep moving, and I’m going to weld your eye shut dollface. The faceplate’s previous owner had a longer than face than you, edges were much more angular so I have to make sure this all fits, just perfectly.”

“You Fingers?” V asked.

“Shush-shush-shush, I am in the middle of delicate practice, whoever you are. I’ll deal with you in a moment.” The ripperdoc whispered eerily. “Now, there we go my little bird. That is a stunning new face, be sure to tell everyone who gave it to you.”

The joy-doll soon got up from her chair, woozy and dazed as she felt the new faceplate, silver solders around her cheeks and chin where the new plate had been set to her face. They’d fade away in time, that or Fingers had done a bad job on purpose to ensure repeat business. Sliding a small face mask over the new material, the blue-haired doll had rushed out of the surgery when Judy allowed her to leave, locking the door behind her once again. The bony ripperdoc had immediately rushed over to the nearby sink, the usual pearl white ceramic muddied with dry blood, oil and other coloured fluids. The scraggly man pushed rapidly at the tube of disinfectant on his tool-belt as he swiped his hands of any material that had come off during his surgery on his recent patient.

V hated him already, the way he dressed, the way he talked. Sounded like an artist, yet lived and worked in a place that was dirtier than some scavver holes he’d cleaned out with Jackie weeks back. The man was as thin as a rake, clothed in a pink net-pattern vest, gold belt low cut jean shorts, exposing his gaunt legs. Synthetic hair tied back tightly that exposed his badly receded hairline, and as he turned around to face Judy and V, the duo was exposed to the wrinkled face with tired eyes, yellow teeth and a thin pornstar moustache.

“Now, what can I do for my ungrateful disrupters?”

V was first. “Looking for a girl named Evelyn Parker, used to work at Clouds. Woodman said she was sent here to your, clinic, following a major cybernetic malfunction. That true?”

“Ahh, so this is what you interrupted my delicate operation for…”

“Where is she, you slimy fuck?”

Fingers smiled, he had a disgusting and toothy grin. “Well, isn’t that a loaded question, hmm? Why do you assume that I know where she’s gone, I only do the ops, I don’t look after them when they leave. I don’t do, babysitting services.”

“Yeah, any kid that you looked after would get the fuckin’ clap if they walked in here for two seconds straight,” Judy remarked.

Fingers glared. “You don’t get to question my clinic when you aren’t on my level, honey. Back off, besides, you ain’t the Claws. I ain’t got no beef.”

“You’ll have beef when the girls you operate on find out you’re giving them faulty implants.”

“You two might say so, but I can easily just say that they were the best parts I could find. As you can see, I am operating on a limited budget, see? Besides, they always have something to offer, you know, when they beg me to fix them up? Heheheh.”

Judy had already approached the ripperdoc, gripping him tight by the ear and before punching him straight in the temple, knocking him to the floor. “You are one sick fuck, you know that? Besides, fuck the Claws. We’re with the Mox.”

“Your boy toy with ‘em too, looks like a nice cut, even with the metal fuck-arm I see.”

V soon joined in, giving Fingers a hard kick to the gut. “Evelyn Parker, you operated on her, now, where is she?”

“I don’t know where she is, I swear!”

V had already grabbed Fingers by the neck, dragging him from the floor as he leant him over the sink. Pressing the perverted ripperdoc into the ceramic, V moved his two hands around his throat, squeezing lightly against the man’s windpipe. “Don’t lie, it doesn’t look good when you got a twitch. I know you had here, Woodman gave her to you, now tell me, what you did and where she is!”

“Okay, okay!” Fingers shuffled on his feet, trying to not be lifted into the air. Judy was watching in silence, arms crossed as she thought about pulling her Kenshin pistol on the doc. “She came in cold, but not dead. Something about being fried mid-job and her implants was all fucked, said he needed them fixed. I tried, but, I ain’t exactly running a LIMB Clinic or like that doc in Watson, what’s his name, Vektor? I ain’t got the resources, you can see? I couldn’t do anything, I swear!”

Judy growled, pulling the pistol before she wacked Fingers across the face, his nose soon gushing with blood. “Bullshit! He’s lying, V, what did you do with her, you freak!”

Fingers had been thrown to the floor in the altercation, with V picking him up again by the straps of his vest. “Please, put a muzzle on this bitch or put her down! It’s impossible to tell you something I don’t fucking know, okay?”

V had tired of the pervy ripperdoc quickly, and although it brought him great pleasure to knock the scum up and around his clinic, he didn’t need to get asbestos or rust-lung from standing in the ‘clinic’ for too long. Holding Fingers with his regular hand, V activated the Muramasa, the blood-red steel blade emerging from the silver arm before it folded over V’s knuckles. The blade soon began to dig into the arch of Fingers’ collarbone, but not deep enough to draw blood.

“I am one hair away from putting you down, like a mad dog,” V grunted, digging the blade in as blood began to run down his chest. “You’re scum, all you do is take advantage of people worse off than you. I know guys that got more skill in their pinky finger that could do what you do, for less expense and more for the karma. Now, tell me, where is Evelyn Parker?!”

Fingers squirmed in terror. “Two slices of beef from an X-BD studio took her out, never said a word! I got a BD chip in the mail yesterday, didn’t say where from but it had her in it! An X-BD, you know what that means? She’s fucked, I didn’t mean for them to take her! Take the chip, it’s bad juju!”

Fingers managed to pull a chip from his toolbelt, handing it to V before Judy snatched it out of his grip. Letting the man go, the Muramasa folded inwards and back into V’s arm as the solo let the ripperdoc breath for a moment. The ‘surgeon’ fell to the floor desperately, gasping for every minute amount of air that he could get as Judy headed out of the clinic. V wasn’t done, however. He grabbed Fingers by his left hand, and V crouched down to look at Fingers in the eye. Whilst his silver arm had the Muramasa, his remaining Militech gear still had his cyber-weapons. Synthetic skin folded over V’s hand as the metal and wires were exposed.

“Wait, what are you, ARGH, AHHH!”

The Gorilla Hand had crushed Fingers’ hand into fragments and bone and blood, savagely turning it into a painful mass of broken flesh. V remained to clutch the broken limb, looking Fingers in the eye. “I hear a word, that you fucked over anymore joy-dolls, and I will come back for you, and fuck up your other hand and take your clientele. You read me?”

Fingers winced, cried and mewled in pain, with V letting him go as he left the clinic. The screams and shouts and arguing had caused the working girls from before to leave early, and V was prompt in leaving the apartment complex as he marched through Jig-Jig Street to the exit, finding Judy sat on the hood of his car, the X-BD chip in her hands. She was staring at the chip emptily, flipping it between her hands as V approached, tapping her on the shoulder.

Judy looked at the solo in front of her, anger still flushed and reddening her porcelain-coloured face. “I don’t want to look at it, I’ve seen X-BDs before, and this, it ain’t good for the soul.”

“I can check it if you want.”

“No. You’ve had one BD before, and it made you, no offence, crease up. An X-BD, it’s like, experiencing everything bad about the world. See this? Death’s Head marker means its bad shit. Snuff. You don’t want to know what being raped or murdered, or tortured feels like. I ain’t putting you through that, V.” Judy grunted, placing the chip in her overalls. “Thanks for the offer though.”

“Anytime. Sorry, we couldn’t find her.” V muttered, leaning against his car, hands laid out on the roof of the hypercar. “I’ll keep an ear to the ground, see what happens.”

“No need, I’m gonna have to look through the X, see if there’s any way we can find something to find where Evelyn is,” Judy said, getting off the hood. “I need to find her; I just need to be sure. Dead or alive, I can’t leave her. Not after everything she’s done for me.”

“Roger that,” V stated, gesturing for Judy to get into the car as he slid into the driver’s seat and activated the auto. “You know, if you find anything, I will help you. At this rate, it’ll be better if we do it together.”

Judy nodded. “Okay, V. And thanks, for everything. I know I seemed angry and suspicious at Lizzie’s but, I appreciate what you’re doing. For me and for Evelyn.”

“No problem, Jude. Lizzie’s?”

“Yeah, please. Still got some work to do before I ruin my life checking this fuckin’ chip.”

V and Judy spent another hour in the car, slowly rolling through the dusk traffic as the night slowly began to reclaim its hold over Night City. For once, it started to rain heavily in the city of dreams as V had been expecting for the past few weeks. The drive had been a quiet one, with very little conversation between the solo and techie, as well as the radio being turned off. Judy had mentioned that she preferred the quiet in passing as they drove from Japantown to Watson whereupon Judy thanked V once more, patting him readily on the shoulder before she got out.

V remained in the parking lot, watching Judy enter through his mirrors as she entered the club, with Rita in tow. As soon as they were safe in the club, V had already left the lot, setting a new destination.

Afterlife. He knew one person in Night City that could find Dexter DeShawn, and that one person was the greatest Fixer that Night City had to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, we've started the arc with Judy and Evelyn. You know me, I'll change a few things down the line. However, the real stuff is coming up next. You know who the best Fixer in NC is, and we know who that there is a certain Nomad that ain't exactly in her good graces. It's happening.  
> -Apollo


	15. The Lost and Damned

**_04/09/2077  
The Afterlife, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The drive from Lizzie’s Bar up to Afterlife, whilst a short drive in itself, was lengthened awfully by the amount of traffic that had flooded into the streets as night fell over the city and the deserts surrounding it. It allowed V a small oasis in which he could take a moment to just allow himself to breathe, to steal that moment of reprise. In one day, he’d manage to stabilise himself after the heist and find at least one lead as to how everything had turned upside down.

Evelyn’s side of the story was only one side of three. Evelyn needed the chip, for what reason? That was only something V could find out whenever Judy managed to track down any kind of information from that snuff BD that Fingers had given them. V wasn’t exactly blind, he wasn’t stupid either, and he knew that in the outskirts in the city people went from less-than-decent to more than downright terrifyingly evil. Scavvers, they were like rats who stole anything that had some shine or a hint of chrome to them. Maelstrom, kidnapping people to ritualise them in half-forging broken cyberware to them to watch them suffer.

V had been far out in the Badlands more than once, the Raffen Shiv were bandits that kidnapped anyone that strayed too far from the city without adequate protection. Their nests were equally as bloody and gruesome as some of the worst scavver nests that V had found himself clearing out with Jackie, or even when he had to recover the rare VIP who had went missing.

Night City, whilst known as the City of Dreams for its nigh-on idealistic view of what cities could be in the future had another name for itself. The City of Dreams that could easily become the American Nightmare.

_“So, you’re going to Afterlife, huh?” Johnny muttered as the two solos sat quietly in the road as traffic slowly filtered along the tarmac. “Never told me that Rogue was still kicking, wonder if she’s still got the balls to do things herself like she always did.”_

V was slack in his seat, the neon blue interior lights reflecting from his silver arm. “She’s a fixer now, from what I heard. Best one in the city rakes in cash and isn’t afraid of anyone, they’re afraid of her.”

_“Afraid? Of Rogue?” Johnny smothered a chuckle. “In the day, people worried about Rogue because she had Santiago in her corner. The man breathed violence; Rogue was the calm one. You ask me, Night City has only gotten worse with age. Went from some high-class joy-doll with a diamond cunt, to some poor backstreet whore who runs to guys like Fingers to get their parts fixed for the next fucking.”_

V laughed, coughing over it when Johnny’s eyes fell on him. “Gee, aren’t you a bag of laughs and happiness? You ever tried just chillin’ out with the drugs, dolls and concerts and just, I don’t know, fucking sleep?”

_“Didn’t have time to sleep back then, next best thing to that was drinking to unconsciousness. Probably why my liver gave out so much.”_

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me at all, Johnny.”

The rockerboy evaporated from V’s passenger seat, finally leaving to the silence which was perforated only by the external noise of the city itself. Tired of sitting around, V’s silver arm tightened around the steering wheel, whereupon V took the next chance he got, spearing through gaps in the traffic and cutting through the streams until he took the off-road down the alley where The Afterlife was situated. Sliding the Outlaw into the nearest parking spot, V sighed aloud as he slowly allowed himself to place his head on the steering wheel. Vik had told him to take it easy, four days after the worst thing that happened to him and he’d already found himself ripping through one Tyger Claw hideout, and then intimidated a Claw puppet before beating up a predatory ripperdoc.

Taking it easy didn’t exist in any dedicated, veteran solo’s world. You adapted as shit was thrown at you and whether it was getting a lung replaced or a new prosthesis placed on a stump. Nobody had the time or the money to relax, Night City would take and take and take, but it would never give. Those few moments were too much, and V had soon taken Sovereign, reloaded it before sliding it into his sling before it was clipped to his chest. Getting out of his car, he threw his underarm slings around his shoulders, sliding two Liberty heavy pistols in the slings before he opened his second bag, taking two small rolls of euro-dollars as he flicked them into his pocket.

He’d wrapped a magazine belt around his waist for the pistols, a bandolier of slugs and shells over his shoulder before V’s eyes fell on a grey leather cut that V hadn’t bothered wearing in almost nine years. Years of wear and tear, the mothballs, rips and stitches that were still visible in the patches of organic and synthetic leather. Whilst V had looked like a private soldier, the cut stood the test of time. The leather had a large patch stitched into the back, the sign of his clan. The burning skull of the horse, with tires below it. Turning away, in disgust as well as in shame, V grabbed the short-sleeve black military coat, throwing it on before he locked the car and walked down the steps to the club.

Like every other night, the fixer-cultists, solo-wannabes and aspiring badasses had all queued up, leading from the entrance and all the way up the steps that led back up the carpark and out to the street. Maybe Johnny was right if all that the city cultivated was pussies and wannabes without any iota of originality about them. Copycats, getting the most expensive chrome they could find to show off, hairstyles and clothing so they could look like Lizzy Wizzy or dedicated followers of the Us Cracks. Clean, pure, idiots.

V slipped past them, the bouncers noticing him as soon as he walked towards the door. The crowds were parted forcefully as V marched past, groans and angered shouts as a professional solo was allowed in before any of them. Walking down the steps, V strode past more and more of the corporate tools as he soon walked straight to the main door, familiar neon colours from his first visit still present as he approached Emmerich.

The massive doorman stood tall over V, draped in black with the cyber-shades covering his eyes. “You? Shit, I thought you were dead after that last job.”

“Guess you thought wrong. Dex in? What about Rogue?”

Emmerich shook his head. “Ain’t been seen since it went down. Ain’t seen hide or hair of him or any the others. Come in. Rogue is at her booth, but I wouldn’t go near her at the moment.”

“I’ll take my chances, Emmerich.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kid.”

V shrugged off the doorman’s words as he entered the club, pounding music that screamed about resistance and disorder thudded and drummed throughout the place, acoustics in the former morgue allowing the music to reverberate throughout the entire layout of the bar. The ex-corpo had already scanned the club, moving past the booths that were inhabited by gangs of thugs instead of the old woman that had the reputation that V had heard so much about. Jackie basically droned on about her, always said she gave the best jobs or always had the right info. For a price, of course, there was never an exception.

The solo had slowly marched past groups of kids who had managed to pay off the doormen, V earning the look of astonishment as people gawked at him as if he were the second coming of Silverhand himself. Adoration was nice, but not from chumps that had no idea how shit everything could be. Tourists, looking to ingratiate themselves in the nightlife of the city, willfully ignorant of the seedy underbelly that ran throughout the entire city, from apartment slums to the tallest corpo skyscrapers. The jacket V wore covered up most of his weaponry, although with one sleeve shorn off to expose his prosthesis it seemed that people still looked at him with awe instead of suspicion.

_“Seems people really have a semi for you, kid,” Johnny muttered in his head, leaning against the backbar behind Claire. “Well, I say for you. That chrome is doing all the work for you, the charisma doesn’t come free, I’m afraid, not that I’d give it to you. Power, responsibility, yada-yada…”_

The silver hair and fine neo-leather of Rogue soon caught V’s eye, the fixer lounging in her personal booth with her group of followers and informants that kept her on the ball with everything that happened in Night City. Hell, even the two dreadlocked bouncers that were in front of her booth oozed a sense of insignificance and inessential value when compared to her. The chrome-plated pistol that rested on the table in front of her, next to the glass of bourbon that she would occasionally take a sip from. V had gathered up a sense of confidence to approach her and was about to confront the bouncers before he saw _her_.

The caramel-coloured skin, the long black ringlets of hair that drifted just in front and behind her small ears. The rest of her hair curling upwards and being folded and merging into the large mix of dreadlocks that V remembered was much smaller the last time he had seen her. The torn and faded blue jeans with the utility harness that wrapped over and under her legs, the beige bodysuit that clung tightly to her body, accentuating her adult curves. V would have almost been ecstatic (he would have hidden it, he had a small rep) if he hadn’t seen the black and red jacket over her torso, the same icon of the horse skull that was on his own grey cut that remained on her back.

He'd managed to catch Rogue’s eye, her side-eye confirmed to V that he would be next when she was finished with the nomad girl with her. V almost immediately slipped over to the bar, pushing past a kid who was getting too handsy for his own good. With one stern look, V had sent the boy on his way in a sulk before Claire had saddled up to him on her side of the bar.

“Well, well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

V grumbled under his breath as he looked at the bartender, an apron strapped over her denim overalls. “Guess so, I feel fucking sore too. How you been?”

“Good. As good as it can be working in a place like this. Ain’t no assholes that treat me like a piece of meat and if somebody gets too uppity then there’s always five solos and edgerunners around if the doormen can’t sort shit out. So, I’m peachy.” Claire replied, smiling. “Where’s that friend of yours, what was his name, Jackie?”

V frowned, looking at Claire with a look that was akin to one of grief mixed with simmering anger. “Let’s say he ain’t with us anymore, it’s why I’m here. Need to talk to Rogue and see where Dex is.”

Claire nodded solemnly, patting V on the shoulder, slowly stroking his arm. “Well, how did he go out? On his own terms?”

“I wish, but it was probably a way he would gonked out at if he knew. Went out fighting Adam Smasher.” V lied. It wasn’t a fight, it was a fucking murder that V still hadn’t avenged, or even come to terms with. He’d feel better when he had Smasher’s head on the hood of his car.

“Then I would say that’s going out on his way, good enough for me. What was his drink?”

V sighed. “Vodka on the rocks, some ginger beer, lime and a splash of love. In the man’s own words.”

Claire smiled, shaking her head with a small chuckle as she made the drink. The more V thought about Jackie, the more he needed the time to just consider how much of a bad friend he still thought he must have been in those last few hours. Did Jackie think that V was thinking more about the money than themselves, more than him? Maybe, selfishness had been a trait instilled in him since he joined the corps and Jackie had always been adamant that working there for years was never good for the soul. Perhaps he was right all along, maybe Evelyn’s offer had pulled him off the right path.

It hadn’t taken long for the red-haired bartender to complete the order, one for V and one for herself. The small tinge of daquiri bitters in each glass for the splash of love that Jackie never explicitly stated what it was. Clinking the glasses together, the drink was soon downed by both V and Claire as she took the two glasses and placed them under the bar top. She gave another pat to V’s shoulder before she toasted the ex-Valentino:

“Here’s to the Jackie Welles, peace to the badass motherfucker that took on the Adam Smasher.”

The bartender had soon gone off to take care of her other clients, her bartending partner handing V a bottle of Estrella again as he handed the man a fiver before he harboured the bottle in his hand. _Fuck this_ , he thought, why on Earth did he care about what Panam thought about him anymore? She probably wouldn’t even recognise him. V got up from the bar with his bottle in hand, heading over to Rogue’s booth before Panam Palmer had pushed past the two guards and then immediately barged into V’s shoulder, barely allowing V the vital seconds to save his bottle.

She didn’t bat an eye at him before she had stormed off. “Be careful who you bargain with, fuckin’ asshole…” She’d growled.

V had barely had the time to register how Panam had aged in the time he had been close to her. Nine, ten years and she’d gone in a flash. V swallowed the regret of not saying a word before the bouncers parted for him on Rogue’s word. Stepping forward, V revealed himself to Rogue, her eyes flashing over as she gave him the once over. Despite her advanced age, V could see the signs of genetic anti-ageing treatments on the skin, no wrinkles, no pockmarks or vitiligo. V wouldn’t have been able to tell she was a day over thirty if it weren’t for the silver hair that was draped over her shoulders.

“So, not here nor there.” Rogue said as she lounged on the black leather couch, eyes on her drink instead of V. “You got a name, soldier-boy?”

“People call me V, ain’t got another name.”

Rogue squinted at the solo in front of her. “Okay, and what is it you want, V?”

_“Can’t believe it’s really her, Rogue Amendiares just kicking it back at the booths as the Queen of the Afterlife. Ice-cold bitch if I ever knew one.” Johnny muttered, reappearing out of the digital nether-realm as he himself kicked back on the couch as if he were there in reality._

“Require your services and got the eddies for it,” V stated, plainly. “Looking for a guy, went missing recently.”

“Oh yeah, and who might this guy happen to be, soldier-boy? Wouldn’t happen to be some chain-wearing, gold-armed dipshit named Dex DeShawn, would it?”

V was taken aback. “You already knew?”

“Don’t jump too soon, kid. Back down to earth, I got questions for somebody who’s carrying a lot of rep, bad rep I should say.” Rogue mentioned as if it were common knowledge. “Jackie Welles and T-Bug, two professionals who got iced on your job, and you send your fixer into the black. If this were any other fixer I’d be scared, but Dex has always been more of a rat than a man. You, V, are what we call bad juju.”

_“That’s the bitch I used to know. Tell her about the Saka Tower raid, how they shot Johnny Silverhand because she didn’t have the guts to pull him out herself so she could cut and run.”_

V grimaced a little before he spoke. Hopefully, his words wouldn’t get him flatlined. “You like to read the obituaries, that’s all good. I can read yours if you want? You forget that you saw Johnny Silverhand torn apart by Adam Smasher and you didn’t do shit to save him? We ain’t too different, guess you’re coming back down to earth with me.”

Rogue grimaced, leaning forward for her drink as V coolly sipped at his beer. “You, have some brass fucking balls on you boy. Not many people have that, and the people that I know seem to not suit them. You do, though. Take a seat.”

V sat, but Rogue was not finished. “As much as I like a little flashback to better times, this is just biz. Show me the eddies and we can talk.”

V smirked, placing his beer on the table before he dug his hands into his pockets. Whilst he might have looked like the soldier that his jacket showed him as he did have some business sense to him, he was smart enough to be carrying and that was all it took in a place like The Afterlife. He slapped the two rolls of eddies on the table, a smirk on his face as Rogue immediately took them, weighing them in her hand before she slapped them back down and chuckled before she sipped at the glass of bourbon.

“Sorry, kid. This is kiddy cash. Come back when you got some real money, then we can talk.” Rogue said with a smile. “What’s with the face, soldier-boy? Thought you’d just walk in here and play with the big boys?”

“That’s ten-thousand, in cash. How is that not enough?” V argued, taking his beer before he kicked his legs upon Rogue’s table, earning her slight ire. “Unless you haven’t got the info at all.”

Rogue shook her head, kicking V’s feet off the table herself. Her entourage was watching with curiosity, ready for V’s head to get the shit kicked out of him. “That info is worth more than ten bags of sand, soldier. That’s the money that could get you a hiding Arasaka member. Dex is a fixer, and that means whatever hurts him, might hurt me. Especially when you’re involved. I have a rep, kid. You gotta fix yours quick.”

“I either ain’t gonna be alive or in this city for long enough for rep to matter when I’m done,” V admitted firmly, finishing off his bottle. “All I need is the info on Dex, and I’ll be gone.”

Rogue laughed aloud, and her groupies did alongside her. “Ballsy talk kid. What is it that kids say now, that you ain’t here for a long time, just a good time? Well, lemme tell you something. Being here for a long time, and living this life is much better than shuffling off the coil at twenty-two. Ninety-nine per cent of the people won’t even know what real power feels like. Not one, I’d say.”

“Nice to see you think I’m a catch, but I’m twenty-seven. Besides, the uh, little band of aspirants you got following you here ain’t any better. Recording us for hits on the holo to see when you want my brains blown out, really, I thought you’d hand out with better company, Rogue. Not some neeks who climb out of the woodwork for mommy’s approval.”

The groupies had stopped recording, probably to take offence at the truth bomb that V had dropped on them. They probably hadn’t even touched a gun; the real people were talking now.

_“V, better be ready to back up some of that talk now. She won’t back down. That, or she’ll agree to what you said and probably tell them to shit or get off the skeef.”_

One stern look at the people in her booth, and they had scattered past the guards almost immediately. In a flash, the male bartender with Claire had brought a full bottle of El Dorado rum with a variety of mixers, plus another glass for V. He’d quickly scattered when Rogue had brushed him off with a wave of her hand. Two glasses of rum later, and Rogue was much more forthcoming with what she had.

“V, for once, you actually spoke truth to those, pricks,” Rogue admitted, her uncaring eyes betraying the encouragement of his actions. “I wish somebody could do that every day. It would at least reminds me of better days. Damn…”

V smirked as he took a sip of his rum and cola mix. “I’d be glad to do it every day if you need it that bad.”

“Careful, soldier. Don’t become one of them, desperate for my approval. Ain’t necessary.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The solo and the elder fixer had soon finished their drinks, soon the empty glasses and bottles being replaced by two simple bottles of Peroni, the green glass bottles reflecting off the bright white light of Rogue’s luminescent table. Laying the bottles down, Rogue crossed her legs before she went back to her regular self. The look in her eyes, it screamed ‘back to business now’ and it was.

“Those five-rolls, give them to me and we can talk,” Rogue said; V immediately handing the eddies to the woman. “Consider this a temporary discount, but only if you help me out with an issue.”

V slumped on the couch. “Hit me. What’s the issue?”

“Cargo delay, to put it lightly. I had some contacts in Reno and Vegas sending me some merchandise and on its way here, it got jacked by some whacked-out turbo-sniffing badland raiders. Now, I have somebody working on getting my shit back to my guys, but I do not have one-hundred per cent faith in if she can get it back. Apparently, somebody forgot to tell this Nomad chick that she only gets paid if she does the job properly.”

Rogue’s eyes began to glow, a bright lime green before dying down to the dark emerald colour. “That’s her location and her deets. Name’s Panam Palmer, a bit of a hot-button girl, turns on a dime.”

“Yeah, that the chick that you were talkin’ to, before?” V asked, hesitant look in his eye as he sipped his beer. “I dunno, Rogue. Me and the Nomads, we don’t mix well. Ex-corpo and all.”

Rogue was unimpressed. “Well, here’s some advice: don’t tell them that you’re a corpo and they won’t care. Look, I’m taking a risk with you. Your rep, kid, ain’t diamond. I look bad for taking you on because it looks like I rely on street-rats that can’t get a job done, and end up doing more damage than good. So, do it right, and I can hook you up with that info and help you out in the future if you’re lucky. Okay?”

_“Take the offer and leave, she’s doing more than she would if you weren’t as fuckin’ ballsy as you are. Just say yeah, V.”_

V downed the bottle and stood up. “Roger that, boss.”

“Good, now get out of my sight so I drink something in peace for once.”

V gave the casual salute to the lady fixer, before making his way out of the club. Waving to Claire, who waved back before getting back to work, V had already raced up the steps and out of the old morgue. Approaching his car again, he’d opened the boot before digging through his weapon bag again. He was already walking around like an armoury, but there was nothing wrong with being prepared. Badland raiders around Night City weren’t just scavvers. V’s memories clicked into place, experiences of getting shot in the gut and bleeding in Panam’s hatchback before his exile.

Two Kenshin Tech pistols slipped into his hip holsters and two Chao smart-pistols strapped to his upper thighs, V had finished off as he grabbed a D5 Copperhead rifle, attaching a strap to the handle before he grabbed more ammo, throwing it into the passenger seat before the car screeched against the rubber as it shot out onto the street.   
**-  
Just outside of Heywood, District of Santo Domingo  
Night City, California  
-  
**Panam could have heard the guttural howl of the Herrera Outlaw GTS from five blocks away, it’s whine meant to signify that some bigshot was around and wanted people to know that he was there. It was the mindset ingrained in every person in Night City, from what she’d experienced. Everyone was so obsessed with either being famous or at the very least, remembered in death as they were in life.

Not that it mattered much in the end, half the people that died begging for recognition ended up either getting burnt to ash or thrown in a municipal dump to rot with the rest of the crap that the dreaded city-state threw up when it was done with them. Panam did not aim to be one of them, but with the way she was going, she was walking the line of falling into one of the categories, neither of them where she wanted to be.

And she wasn’t getting anywhere until the damn car would just nut up and work like it was supposed to. The Thorton Colby 240T was average, at best, it was nothing like her beast of a truck that she’d affectionately named ‘Warhorse’ due to the heavy armour plate, autocannon and horse skull on the hood. She hadn’t seen the thing in weeks, Nash, that bastard, had taken it with Rogue’s cargo.

The whine of the Outlaw grew closer and closer, slowly reversing in pitch from some high-noted scream into a vibrato hum. She ignored it as much as she could, trying to focus on fixing the engine of the piece of shit car she’d been forced to adopt out of necessity. She wasn’t walking to the camp (not that she’d be caught dead without her truck there) or back to Afterlife to get a new ride. The humming got closer and closer until it went silent, and Panam gave once quick glance to see the Outlaw parked up right outside of the little parking lot where she’d found herself alone, in the middle of the night.

It happened to be the one that she had stormed past as she left the Afterlife, neon blue under-glow that screamed ‘look at me, I’m no different than the rest of the douchebags in this city’. The door slammed shut, and the Spanish hyper-car screamed before it drove off into the night. Lucky bastard could afford an auto-drive function as well, Panam grumbled as she popped the hood of her own car to a face full of warm steam and an absolutely-fucked engine.

Almost immediately, she’d taken to rolling up her sleeves and getting her hands dirty. The engine was still warm, but the coolant was active so that wouldn’t have been much of an issue in a few moments. Turning around and going to lean against her driver-side door, she caught sight of the man that had arrived. Tactical gear, armed to the teeth, looking for a big fight, if she had to say.

Short black hair, the bushy beard, tell-tale signs of extreme body augmentation and cyberization, hell, both of his eyes were clearly sub-human. Heterochromia was a thing of the past; the man didn’t have a proper colour-corrected pair of eyes. She’d groaned internally before she spoke. “Lemme guess, your one of the bitches that Rogue likes to have fix her problems for her?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t put it like that for somebody who can’t fix their own car.” The man replied with a dreadful smirk, that scar over his left eye dragging from his eyebrow to his lips. “Poor excuse of a nomad, if I have to say.”

Panam clenched her fists together; she couldn’t hit the guy. “You know what? I don’t need the help, okay? I can get my truck, and my cargo on my own, without you or that silver bitch’s help.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.” The black-clad edgerunner replied with a smirk. “You always say that when you try and hunt down some Raffen Shiv on your own, or you just like to get shot at?”

Panam perked up at his mention of the name. Raffen Shiv was Nomad nomenclature, it was their language that they used. Most people would call them as they saw them, desert bandits and manic road warriors that were too addled by the background desert radiation or the fact they were fucking insane and got booted from their old clans. Panam grumbled aloud, kicking the door of her car before she went to the trunk to gather some tools before she went back to fixing the engine, the block having cooled down slightly.

The man approached, remaining a small distance away from. In Panam’s mind, it was for his own good. “You know, I can fix this on my own. Look, tell Rogue she’ll get her damn cargo in the next few days and leave me alone.”

The man was silent, watching her as she was bent over the front of the car as she tried to fix what was wrong with the engine. “Need a hand?” He’d asked politely.

“No, no I do not.” Panam rebuffed, hopeless as the man slung his rifle over his shoulder before she was pushed to the side gently. “Really, I said I don’t need the help.”

The man took his time, observing the engine block before he looked at the radiator and coolant hoses. Almost immediately he’d reached into Panam’s toolbox for some tape, tying off the holes and leaks that were causing the smoke. As soon as they were tied off, he’d looked at the engine block, and with the once over confirming that the car was on the edge of being fucked, he’d closed the bonnet.

“You needed the help when you picked the two-forty-tee as your car of choice.” The man grumbled, Panam looking directly without a hint of hesitation. She knew it was a terrible idea, but he had a really punchable face. She really wanted to knock him out, see if he talked as much when he was out cold. “Also, probably not big enough for Rogue’s cargo. There’s some free advice for you.”

Panam’s hands fell to her hips as she looked into his mis-matched eyes. “Oh, and you think you know better because you work for Rogue and you drive an Outlaw? I bow down to you, master of the engine block. Tell me, do you get off on making everyone feel inadequate or is it just me?”

The man ignored her mocking tone, tightening the strap for his rifle before he picked up her toolbox and place it in the backseat of the car. Slamming the door closed, Panam had already got behind him and backed him up against the car. For somebody who was armed to the teeth, Panam had noticed that he seemed to disciplined to be some common street thug from Heywood of Watson. Even so, his mannerisms, despite being blunt and heavy-handed, weren’t violent or aggressive in nature.

“Look, I appreciate the help and all, but I don’t need help killing Nash and his gang, okay?” Panam admitted, turning foot and walking to the driver-side door. “Just go and tell Rogue everything’s fine.”

The soldier shook his head. “Can’t do that. Need to confirm that you get the cargo and don’t run off with it.”

“Yeah, because I look like an idiot that’s going to shaft a fixer, don’t I? Look, I get you are like, honour-bound, to make sure the job’s done, but just, I don’t know, fuck off, please?”

The soldier was quiet, and Panam for a moment had thought that she might have finally cracked the brick wall that was the soldier before he sighed leant against the car. Clenching her hands tightly, she’d punched the man directly in his ballistic vest, her hand thudding limply against the kevlar-neo-weave of the vest. She’d punched again and again, before his silver arm finally stopped her, throwing her hand limply away.

“Panam, are you done?” The man had asked, not expecting an answer. “Really, are you done bitching?”

Panam growled. “How the fuck do you know my name? Did Rogue give you, and I wasn’t bitching! You’re stopping me from doing my job!”

The man was neutral in his stance, nowhere near combat-ready as Panam looked ready to beat his vest. “What happened over ten years that made you so fucking angry, all of a sudden?”

Panam stared at him, eyebrow quirked as she poked at him. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t even know you!”

The man finally breathed, heavily and tiredly. Pulling the ball-chain from his neck and over his head, he handed the chain to Panam before placing his silver index finger under his second name. He waited a moment before she threw the tags back at him.

“So, what, your name is Virgil? What does that mean? I don’t know anyone called that.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, Panam, it’s me!” V almost shouted. “It’s me, V! Jesus Christ, can you not tell?”

Panam punched him, surprisingly hard considering it actually made his face hurt. Thankfully his cheek and his jaw weren’t broken. “What the fuck was that for? I’m V!”

“Bullshit! Prove it, tell me something that only V would know!” Panam had shouted, a CS Unity pistol in her grip. “Don’t bullshit me, or I will blow that chromed-out brain on the concrete.”

“Twenty-sixty-seven, Mojave Desert. You were driving a Galena Rattler and we were getting chased by a scavver nest because we got lured in a lead for some meds and cybers. I got shot in the gut pushing you out of the way of some sniper before we got out. I woke up, argued with Saul and was told to leave so you didn’t get exiled instead.”

Panam’s hand was shaking, but she didn’t show the emotion on her face. “Show me the scar.”

“I just told you, I got shot in the gut. You can’t see half of it anymore, anyway.”

“Show me the other half then, prove it.” Panam said, sliding the pistol on the roof of the car.

For a singular moment, V was anxious. Panam had changed, that much was obvious from the entire interaction but then again, so had he. It had been ten years, maybe longer since they had last met. No wonder she didn’t recognise him, he himself had been told he was barely human and everyone else around him knew it. Maybe it was his fault that she hadn’t recognised, he did go in with no intention of telling her who he was until he got tired of getting called a dog-body for Rogue.

He tightened the straps of his vest and rifle sling, grabbing the tank shirt from underneath his pants and rolling it up slightly. Underneath all of the synthetic skin grafts, surgical scars of getting new organs and a myriad of other augmentations, the scar was barely noticeable, but it was there. Holding the shirt, Panam looked down at it with her own eyes and for a moment, there was a softness in her eyes. Her hand rubbed against it slowly, as if she could remember the occasion from the touch alone.

The boy she knew, with his long hair, braids and awfully dry response to her bad jokes was gone. That V didn’t exist anymore. Replaced, by some gruff, bearded man who looked like the cyborgs that she heard so much about. Rolling down his tank when her hand had left his skin, V felt a tinge of cold night air hit his skin directly. Looking down at Panam, there was a silence that said a thousand words as regret was clear in her face.

“V?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is our first interaction between V and Panam. Obviously, there are some issues with Panam being extremely emotional and V, being, well at this point just being himself with his self-image and vengeance issues. There is a long way before anything hokey and romantic can go, especially in regards to the Nomad dynamic that hasn't been touched.  
> Hopefully, you all enjoyed it!  
> -Apollo


	16. Blood on the Sand

**_05/09/2077  
The Badlands  
The Free State of Northern California  
V and Panam  
_-  
**Panam had, to be fair to her, not been entirely welcoming.

The bruised face had been the least of V’s problems when she finally accepted that it was him. She’d barely looked at him the car finally started and said even less so.

The mercenary and the female nomad had been quiet as the car had left the district of Santo Domingo, her eventual acceptance of V being sat at her side remained like a heavy fog that would rarely shift into Night City in the winter. Ten years of nothing, her image of him fractured into something that she would never have thought about in a thousand years, hell, she would never think about it all.

The eyes, the chromed-silver arm that shined in the moonlight and the fake arm that was covered in synthetic flesh, the amount of bioware that was visible in the soldering of V’s face. He was larger, in how tall and how well-built he was. His mannerisms, how he handled himself. She’d noticed that as they drove on through the night he never stopped looking around through the windows. She didn’t exactly know the extent of his body modifications, but with his look, he probably had Cat-Eye modules in those artificial eyes of his. How he handled the rifle, his hand wrapped around the handle with his finger hovering across the trigger, waiting for something to shoot before his finger slid around the trigger and squeezed.

In comparison, to almost anyone in the camp, V was basically a robot. Even Mitch and Scorpion, the two soldiers who’d come back with steel arms, legs and night terrors that kept the camp awake at night looked human. The sensation of smooth, unnatural skin grafts over his stomach that was covering the gunshot that she should have taken that decade ago, the grey neuro-skin that covered the lower half of his throat.

If that was his physical body on the outside, how much had changed on the inside?

In silence, V had remained in the passenger seat with his rifle in his lap as he quietly lingered with his thoughts. Panam couldn’t see it, but V was trying to ignore the digitalised rockerboy that was lying across the hood of the car as it drove across the sandy badland. The man was laughing in his head, loudly crying out in sheer disbelief at how V had allowed himself to be smacked around by Panam as if he were a punching bag.

Frankly, V couldn’t blame him, he’d laugh too if it wasn’t himself that was the one being punched. He’d let out the occasional sigh, catching on as Panam would give him a rare side glance before turning her head back to the road. They’d left Night City almost half an hour ago, the sprawling megalopolis easily fading into the darkness other than the mass of lights and holo-ads that let everyone outside the city know exactly where it was.

He’d been naïve enough, and young enough too that once upon a time he used to think that Night City was the place to go where he could just become everything he’d ever wanted. He could live in the same place as the legends did, go out to the club and party until the sun came up and then do it all again the next day. His years roaming in the NUSA forces changed that quickly, forced to confront the fact that people like Panam, rebels and free-spirits were the enemy. He’d been lying to himself that some of the people he killed were terrorists, they weren’t, they were just nomads that had tired of being on the road and decided to stay and fight for whatever they had left.

_“Disappointed yet, V? Not the welcoming embrace you were expecting from your childhood friend?” Johnny smirked; his voice felt like it was leaking through the windscreen. “I wish I had a camera; I could take a picture of this face and use it to make myself laugh whenever I feel like blowing my fuckin’ brains out.”_

_V’s eyes were dead-aimed at Johnny. “I genuinely need to know if you ever shut up, just so I can have some peace of mind for a few hours.”_

_Johnny got up, crouching on the hood as he pointed at V through the glass. “That ripperdoc gave you those syringes for a reason, to keep you from going fucking crazy like me. Maybe you should take one if you really don’t value my advice.”_

_“Maybe I will when I get my car after I’m done with this shit.”_

Johnny had ripped himself out of reality, allowing V to breathe and gain some tranquillity. As he valued such inner calmness, he took the magazine out of his rifle, checking the bullets before he slotted it back into the rifle. The texture of the rifle in his grip was almost inhuman, how it just managed to fit in his hand like it was just another part of himself that he was missing. He fiddled with the stock, sliding it into the back of the rifle for more space before he began to fiddle with the scope. The silence in the car had remained just as thick as it had done when Panam ordered him to get into the car and shut up.

Panam had finally had enough, speaking although not looking at V. “How come you’re working for Rogue? Of all the people in Night City, it had to be her?”

“I don’t work for Rogue; I needed a favour and I didn’t have the money to fully pay her for the info so here I am. Helping you.” V replied simply, keeping his eye on the road. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Panam gritted herself. “I, well, it was just a job from a fixer.”

“So, you work for Rogue, don’t duck and dodge it if it’s true,” V grunted. “More applicable question would be how you lost your shit.”

“Oh no,” Panam interrupted. “You don’t get to just say shit like that and act as if it’s my fault because it wasn’t. It is not my fault that I almost got bushwhacked by the Raffen Shiv on the way to Night City because my partner got too greedy for his own good.”

V nodded simply. “Yep, because you had no lack of great partners at the camp, I’m sure. Old Cass, Saul, Mitch, Scorpion, Teddy, the old man. I mean, fuck, Panam you were spoiled for choice there. You didn’t need to look for somebody outside the clan.”

Panam shook her head, swallowing a harsh chuckle as she actually looked at her former friend. “You know what? You haven’t been with the clan in ten years, and the first things I hear are you just talking as if it’s twenty-sixty-seven again. Look, it’s not, and you don’t have the right to talk about them anyway. You got out.”

“Yeah, because me getting out was my choice, wasn’t it?”

Panam smacked the steering wheel. “No, but you damn sure took the first chance you got!”

“I didn’t want to leave, Panam! Did you forget that somehow of all the years we knew each other that it was me that got exiled because Saul needed to prove he had the sack to lead the clan?”

Panam shook her head, a laugh of disbelief erupted from her mouth as she couldn’t have believed the words that were coming from the soldier that was sat next to her. He had changed, there was no doubt about that. They’d always been taught from childhood that people outside the clan weren’t to be trusted, or to be seen as family or friend, you only ever needed the clan. Exiles, they were the worst of the worst, there was a reason they weren’t called Nomads but instead known as the Raffen Shiv. They were criminals who made the clans look like savages or in some cases were just not meant to be part of the family from birth and soon-to-be outcasts. The more she thought about it, the more she realised perhaps Saul was right about some people, like V.

The road, it being one of the main entries into the city, was quiet. Panam had a plan, of course, she always did and she probably would have already executed if it weren’t for her having to be helped by one of Rogue’s lapdogs. That was how she was justifying meeting V again; he was just a hesitant helper in this case and as soon as the job was done, Panam could forget all about him and leave that part of her childhood behind. She could say to herself at night that V was just another Raffen and be done with it.

Panam sighed. “I didn’t need you to do that for me, you know? I could have done with leaving, I had nothing left there anyway.”

“That is some bullshit, and we both know it,” V muttered as he tightened the rifle strap that was over his shoulder and across his chest. “There was a reason they sent you on runs and raids, you were one of the best. They wouldn’t have gotten rid of you.”

The female nomad scoffed. “Oh, and they would have gotten rid of their head-technician and cyber-specialist in waiting, would they? You were keeping that camp together as much as everyone else. People liked you, they thought you didn’t deserve it what happened.”

“Yeah, well, what a fat lot of good that did for us,” V grumbled. “Look, just, if you really need to talk about this, can we do this later? Clearly, this is going to take more than some road-talk when you need your truck and I need that cargo.”

“Whatever you say then, boss.”

“And cut the shit. I get enough of it in the city, don’t need you giving it to me too.”

Panam nodded in silence and continued with one hand on the wheel as she drove along the empty highway road. There was nothing around them for miles and miles, other than the lights and sounds of the city that they had just managed to get away from. The city itself was a jewel when viewed from the outside, Panam knew that well enough. Whenever she could get the chance, she’d look through the scope of the rifle at the city and think about what she could have been doing if she was living in one of the skyscrapers or high-rises. The false reality she could live, thinking of another life she could have lived if she were lucky.

The car had soon reached the location, a small little town in the middle of the desert. Archaic, decrepit, desolate and isolated with no inhabitants to be seen anywhere in the dead town. The road was cracked wide, filled with potholes and quakes that tore the tarmac apart. The car had reached a crossroads, one where a line of stores and shops on the right side of the road that led out of the town, with a large picture house and a gas station to the left. The place was dead, the only light source being Panam’s car headlights. The gas station’s lettering above notifying the two wanderers that they were in the abandoned town of Rocky Ridge. V had soon notified Panam of the small power station behind the stores, with the nomad driving around to the hole in the station wall before she turned off the car.

“Nash and his gang should be coming through here on the way to get into the city. So, we can use the town as a kill zone.” Panam stated as she kicked up the hood of the car, her toolbox on the edge as she took some wire and clamp connectors, attaching them to the battery before clipping them up to the dead generators. “Should work anyway, the car will give us some power to work with.”

V had walked over to the nearby power switch, holding on to the lever before Panam had turned the car on. With a flick of the switch, the electricity from Panam’s now-dead car flowed from the wire to the town power grid, V slamming down the lever as the town soon partially lit up. Turning to look at Panam, she’d dived into the trunk of her car, retrieving her backpack, tools and a heavy GRAD sniper rifle. V snapped his rifle stock out, pulling it back so it rested under his arm as he looked at his former family member. Readying two magazines for his rifle, he looked at Panam as she approached.

“How’d you wanna go about this?” She asked, checking her magazine capacity and turning the safety off.

“As quickly as possible.”

“Well, no shit.” Panam quipped, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. “I mean, you want me to stay with you down here or?”

“No, I’ll be on the ground. Can you get on the roof?” V asked, as Panam looked at the roof and then at V with a glint in her eye. “I’ll take that as a yessir.”

Panam shook her head, as she soon pushed V against the wall without a word, crawling over him as she found her handholds on the various cracks in the wall, soon reaching the top. “Take that as a ‘don’t talk to me like I’m under your command’. How about that?”

V grunted. “Works for me, just try not to get shot up there in your nest, if possible.”

Panam looked at the soldier, mouth agape as if she were about to say something sarcastic or biting in response before, she heard the metallic scream of metal being ripped off its hinges. She looked down to see V rip the hood off the car effortlessly, before walking around the perimeter of the station and out of sight. Setting up on the roof, she’d flicked out the bipod of the rifle, setting up on the edge of the store’s border roof. She kept her eyes contained on the main crossroads, before setting her rifle down as she heard the heavy clinging and clanking coming from up the road they drove through. As she had expected, V had returned from his small walk around, car hood still intact as he stopped just before the middle of the crossroads. Setting the hood down against a burnt-out car wreckage, V sat on the wreckage himself waiting.

Panam yelled out from across the road. “Hey, what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get killed?!”

“I’m waiting for your little bandit convoy to turn up, what does it look like I’m doing?!” V yelled as he checked his rifle once more, flicking up another sight behind his original one. “You just sit there and wait, okay, this will be all over in around five minutes.”

Panam stewed as V turned away from her nest, pulling her rifle up as she looked through the scope to the road leading out of town. “Ugh, I’m V and I’m a robot-douchebag because I got kicked out of the clan. Asshole.”

The convoy did not turn up at the time they had expected, with V remaining down on the street, exposed and unsafe as Panam stayed in her sniper nest for the duration of the wait. It took an hour as they remained in the abandoned crossover town, waiting for Nash’s convoy to stroll through. Panam took one look through her scope, the series of lights zipping through the desert’s dark plains until the cars came into a lit view of her scope.

“V, Raffen Shiv are coming in about two minutes from now!” Panam shouted from her spot. “You wanna get into cover?”

“I’ll be fine right where I am!”

“Your funeral!” Panam shouted before she looked back through her scope as she whispered. “Get into some cover, you dumbass. You need to live through this, I’m gonna kick your ass when this is all done.”

V remained in his spot, camped out on the old car wreckage as the lights came closer and closer into view. Panam could see through her scope, two Rattlers, two bikers and her truck. She’d resisted the temptation to open fire on the cars as they began their approach to the old town. V meanwhile had stood up on the roof of the car wreckage, flicking up his second scope as the cars entered the town. Flicking to semi-automatic fire, V exhaled his jailed breaths, squeezing the trigger repeatedly as he stood valiantly as the Raffen Shiv continued their approach. His bursts of rifle fire were soon accompanied by the crack of Panam’s rifle, the heavy sniper ripping through the air into the body of a cycle sending one of the bikers flying off the road and into a store window, his bike flying off as a wreck.

As Panam pulled back on the hammer, releasing the casing, V had already continued on his spree. One bullet hit the wheels of the first Rattler, sending it swerving through the main door of the picture house as he jumped down from the roof, picking up the car hood and using it to approach the rest of the convoy slowly. Panam had chambered the next round, firing at the final biker, the bullet ripping through his chest as it threw him away from his own parked bike and into a bloody puddle.

V had already stopped, dead in the middle of the crossroads, the hood leaning against his side as a hail of bullets rained down on the metal that he was using as an impromptu piece of cover. Turning to the picture house, the enraged shouting of the three raiders from the crash getting louder and louder as they tried to clamber through the wreckage of the car smash-up. Covered in sand-blasted augmentations, ragged and ripped clothing with dust and dirt-covered weapons they had only caught sight of the cyber-soldier in front of them just as it became too late for them to change their fate.

A cacophony of rifle bullets ripped out from behind the temporary cover, not at the convoy but at the survivors of the crash. The hail of gunfire ripped through the three combatants in record time before V had reloaded the rifle. Picking up the metal sheet, V upped from the middle of the crossroad as another heavy shock tore through the sky, the round from Panam’s rifle deflecting off one of the car’s before flinging itself into the sky. As V shuffled along the cracked tarmac, Panam quickly chambered another round as she looked through the scope. A large, turbo-testosterone addicted freak had approached V with two goons at his side. The final two gunmen remained by the final Rattler, with Nash’s second getting out of the driving seat of her truck. As soon as she got the chance, Panam had already got her sight zeroed on her.

An almighty crack speared itself through the air, mangling flesh and bone as the second was immediately flung to the ground, a large gaping hole in her head where her left eye and nose used to be. The sound of the heavy rifle finally alerted the surviving trio, a hail of heavy gunfire forcing Panam down against the wall as bullets were riddling her sniper nest as she took her rifle and laid it against the ground.

Noticing the distance of the shots, as well as the lack of fire impacting his steel shield, he gave it a little throw into the air before booting the sheet in mid-air. Slamming into the three in front of him, V had already readied his rifle, quickly angling around the sheet before unleashing a hail of bullets into the first two gunners before the sheet was thrown right back at him. Being thrown backwards, V had pushed the sheet aside before he was lifted from the floor by the massive, metal-riddled and super-steroid-addled catastrophe of a man. The man ripped his rifle from his strap effortlessly, slamming V straight back down into the concrete.

“Time to die, city boy!”

V had gripped the hand of the man that still was gripped around the neck of his ballistic vest. Curling up, with his free hand he’d grabbed the knife from his boot sheath before sliding it around his hand and jamming it into the man’s neck. Ripping it out, only to stab it back in and out as the man’s grip weakened slowly before V had lodged the knife deep into the man’s temple, pushing him to the side as V remained on the ground, staring to the sky. Panam poked her head out from her nest, looking down at the soldier as he groaned on the floor, slowly picking himself up as Panam worked her way down and around back to the remains of the firefight.

“So,” the nomad muttered with a smile. “That was something.”

V picked himself up from the concrete, albeit slowly as he ached from the impact of the slam. As he stood, he slowly approached the convoy vehicles. “I’d say that was standard, too easy even.”

Panam pushed in front of V, pushing him back as they approached her truck. “V, be honest, what the fuck did they do to you when you left?”

“Nobody did nothing, I did this to myself,” V replied, catching sight of his broken rifle and strap by the corpse of the maniac. “Joined the army for three years, went into contracting. That’s it.”

“You joined the NUSA? Did you ever see Mitch and Scorpion?”

“No. Probably for the best.”

V pushed past Panam as the two got to the truck, with V opening the flatbed trunk of the vehicle, confirming the fact that the truck still had the cargo in the back. Lifting the tarp, all he could see were Militech boxes, forged closed until the access codes were used to open them up. They looked like they were containing some sort of bio-ware, considering how cold and chilled the boxes actually were, he could feel the chill from the outside. Internal temperature regulation control, most likely. Covering the boxes back up with the tarp, V leapt down before closing up the trunk door.

Panam had already gotten inside the truck, with V joining her in the passenger seat. From what V could see, she was looking at some piece of plastic-layered paper before she hid it in the storage compartment. V sighed aloud as he found himself a comfortable position in the passenger seat as the lights finally failed, leaving the two companions alone in the dark, the only source of light left being the internal light above the two.

V had taken his sawn-off from out of its sling, checking if the gun was alright before he slid it back into the sling. Turning, he could see the layers upon layers of gear that Panam had collected in her truck as well as trash from the occupiers they had just killed off. The heavy rifle was on top of it all, covered by a blanket as it was laid over a bag of Panam’s clothes. The female nomad herself had not said much since she got in the car, and was silent when V had joined her.

The truck itself, the interior anyway, was neat, exactly how V had expected it considering the sheer size and armament of the damn truck. There was a latch on the roof to use or to fix the turret, the heavily armoured plate was bolted and welded directly to the door, and the glass had a durable nano-glass hybrid to make the damn thing bulletproof. Panam had done well for herself, considering the last two cars V had seen her with was the dead 240T and the Rattler he’d bled all over when he was younger. Multiple physical tablets were latched around the interior, diagnostic screens showing the health and durability of the truck. Knobs and switches that altered the seats, it was a luxury model of the Mackinaw truck, at least from what V could guess.

“So,” Panam began, “what do you think? Prime wheels, or not?”

“It’s nice, considering the last two cars I can remember you had. Still, not as good as mine but that’s gonna be hard to beat.” V muttered, with the grizzled merc attempting to stop his smirk from showing. _Must be the adrenaline._

“Well, isn’t that a wonder that no car can be as good as your little dinky sports car. Well, this little warhorse completes me, what can I say?” Panam smiled as she fiddled with the diagnostic screens, her seat forging forward as she made herself comfy. “Look, this isn’t over yet.”

“It’s not?”

“No. I still need to go after Nash, for what he did.” The nomad admitted with a look of chagrin. “He abandoned the clan, betrayed us and he could lead the Raffen to camp. He needs to be dealt with.”

V’s smirk disintegrated. “You got your cargo, you got your truck, Nash was not part of our deal or Rogue’s deal. Besides, it’s not like me helping is gonna do anything for the clan. They won’t want my help. I’m Raffen Shiv to them too.”

“Do you not listen to anything I say?” Panam provoked, V turning to look at her with a grimace. “He could destroy the clan, kill everyone, sell everyone off into slavery. Does that not matter to you anymore? What the fuck happened to you, that made you become so selfish?”

V grunted. “Nothing, other than the fact that I lived on my own for almost eight years thinking that me and me alone could keep my ass safe and looked after, because everyone else in this shithole doesn’t care, or will fuck you over at the first sign of trouble. I worked my ass off, for five years before I even got a place of my own and it took me seven years to actually think I could ever have a friend and an output I could trust so they wouldn’t fuck me over. You know what, you’re doing the exact thing I thought you’d never do.”

Panam turned, her attention fully on V. “Oh yeah, and what was that?”

“You, changing your words so you can string me along for the ride, just like everyone else that’s fucked me since I left NUSA and since I had to join fucking Militech!”

Panam’s eyes widened, but she didn’t stop from the surprise. “Oh, that explains everything! The eyes, the arms, just this whole new you, V! You turned into some corpo piece of shit that looks down on people like me and the clan!”

“They booted me from the family when I was a kid! What was I supposed to do, follow the clan around like some lost fucking puppy and beg to be let back in every three months? If you, Cassidy and McCall couldn’t kick some sense into Saul’s thick fucking brain, then why would I ever think of the clan as a good thing, Panam?”

Panam punched him in the shoulder, for him to ignore the blow. “Because we fucking raised you, dipshit! We grew up together! We were best friends, you got shot, for me! I know this might be something too complex for you to handle, but just because you move away from the clan, doesn’t mean people forget about you, or regret their decisions. You’re not this superior corporate edgerunner that you think you are. You were born in that camp; you had a family!”

V growled. “I had carers, my parents are dead and we both know that. You know what, drive to Nash’s place. I’ll do your job for you, and we can leave it as it is. That way, we don’t have to ever fucking do this again. Christ, I thought after ten years that you’d be far enough away from the coast that I wouldn’t worry about meeting this clan again.”

“Fine, as soon as this is done, I can tell Saul that you’re definitely Raffen Shiv,” Panam argued, with V going silent. “Nash won’t be expecting us, his base is in a tunnelled-out refill station so just get ready and then we can part our ways.”

“The sooner the fucking better, at this rate.”

Panam’s truck roared to life, thundering down the desert roads as darkness fell onto the truck once more as they approached an old tunnel system. From what V could tell, it was meant to be a part of a new freeway system to border some new expansion plan for the city in the next few years. From rumour, it was something to do with background radiation flooding into the system and rendering everything pointless. The true story was nowhere near as mystical, just another pandemic of raiders that got too large. The city didn’t care, they’d die out in a few months or so, just like the freeway project. As Panam reached the tunnel system, she’d throttled the engine as the truck shot through the tunnel like an oversized bullet.

As soon as she set eyes on the four sentries checking the tunnel entrance and exit, she’d already splattered them under the wheels of the truck, skidding to a stop in front of an old fuel refill station of the abandoned freeway construction trucks. V had almost immediately drew his two Liberty pistols, and almost automatically aimed at the largest fuel silo, firing a storm of heavy bullets that tore through the steel container and ignited the fuel inside. The explosion rumbled loudly, a small shockwave as the station imploded and the shockwave threw everyone off their feet. Those inside the building were burnt alive, flesh scorching and cooking at an impressive rate as those that were outside were thrown off by the shockwave, trying to get their bearings, only to be shot down by the two combatants who had stormed through their tunnel and threw every plan they had concocted, and every item they had stolen into the fire.

“Nash!” Panam bellowed as she fired an SMG she had taken from the truck. “Get the fuck out here so I can kill you, you traitorous piece of shit!”

The triple-barrel fire had thundered above them, Panam and V ducking to a nearby steel barricade as a light machinegun began to fire long and laborious bursts of bullets at them. V reloaded both pistols, but Panam was nowhere near finished. She’d almost gotten herself killed when she popped out, only for her to be pulled back by V as soon as Nash opened fire again from the steps in front of his burning compound.

“Panam! You fuckin’ clan whore! I thought you’d be dead already!” Nash’s deep voice boomed through the tunnel cavern. “Who’s the skeefed-out borg you brought, is he your poor fuckin’ input?”

V stowed one pistol, quickly taking a smoke grenade from Panam’s belt before he pulled the pin. “When this goes off, start firing.”

“What?”

“Just shoot this asshole!” V exclaimed, throwing the smoke grenade with a heft as it landed directly at Nash’s feet. Almost immediately, smoke plumed around the steps where Nash was firing, and as V had ducked away, Panam fired rapidly into the smoke.

The sprays of gunfire had soon stopped, both from Panam and Nash as V forged a way through the scorching heat to try and bring Panam’s traitor out of the woodwork. The smoke had soon clouded his own vision, and before he had even managed to turn on his thermals, he’d been speared right through the smoke. Nash was much larger in person, and much stronger too. In the shock, V had taken two punches to the face before he blocked the third, using his legs as leverage to force Nash from on top of him and on to the floor.

The two combatants had almost immediately gotten up and charged at each other like warring beasts, with Panam unable to get a clear shot due to the rapid movement of the two fighters. Nash was wild and on the offensive, throwing wild punches, elbows, knees, and kicks wherever he could. Even if they didn’t connect, they were strong enough to be throwing V around as he tried to duck and dodge. The more he moved, the quicker he tired and Panam could see him getting slower.

And V was just faster.

V had blocked his hardest blows, and each time he attempted to block another, the metal in his arms and bones reverberated with something equivalent to manufactured pain. The more he looked at Nash’s pained expressions as he hit V, he thought about how dirty and faceless the man was. Nobody would care if he were to die, burned and unidentifiable, he was a Raffen Shiv. He’d fallen for the call of what some would call ‘freedom’ and how he’d bent to its will, doing whatever he wanted true, but causing innumerable pain and damage with the freedom he had taken.

_The heat from the fire and explosion, the burning pain in his bones from his tiredness, it reminded him of his tour in Nevada in his second year. He didn’t know then what true disgrace was, at least until he was the last survivor of his unit when they were ambushed by more Free Staters than his unit had expected. Twenty soldiers against two-hundred, burning heat and the hot wind blowing across his face in a gunfight that never ended. He tried to justify every death he caused, every man he shot dead to bleed out in the sand, but in the end, it didn’t matter. It was the wishes of the people that they wanted to be free, and yet others wished for them to be together in unity as the NUSA. In the end, as every soldier left was reduced to fighting on their hands and knees with their knives, they all had forgotten the one thing that led them to their position._

_They didn’t know what their orders even were after so long fighting, every single one of them dirty and faceless, waiting to heed one more instruction from a fallen country._

V threw blow after blow, pushing Nash away from the burning station and closer to the truck that Panam and he had arrived in. He ignored the heat of the fires, the ashes and dirt that were falling from the cavern. He’d punched and kicked Nash as hard as he could, with metal hands and a fury that refused to die out. His natural muscle memory from the military, mixed with his artificial training and his cyborg nature made him the superior fighter. V felt free in the fight, moving like a running flow of oil that was set alight and spreading until they were far enough away from the burning station where V was allowing Nash to just attempt to hit him.

Nash, an admittedly large fellow attempted one more punch before he reached for his precision rifle. As soon as it was in his hand, V had already ripped it from his grip, throwing it in the back of Panam’s truck as he stood there, with no attempt at blocking Nash’s attacks. The thrill of the fight was dying, as he knew how outmatched Nash was in comparison to himself. Wild, unorganised swings of fleshy arms with very few modifications.

_Pure human, natural, no metal. V had pondered the thought of what made somebody human, whether it was a physical thing, or even something metaphysical like Misty and Jackie liked to believe._

_To be human was to not lie down and die, to keep fighting no matter what happened, even in the face of certain death. Yet V could only see Nash doing the self-same thing, and he just looked pathetic._

Nash threw one softer hook; his hand being caught in a trap of silver metal before his arm was broken at the elbow. Panam had approached in the meantime, watching as V had toyed with the man she had wanted dead. Crying out in pain, V broke his knee as the large bandit fell to his knees below, crying and wincing and whining in pain as he tried (and failed) to tend to his wounds. V had grabbed the man by his large dreadlocks, looking dead in the eye before he considered what to do. In that time, Panam had already taken her pistol out and blown the man’s brains out.

The fight was over, and V was suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His body felt heavy, and he himself was unable to keep himself upright as soon as the fight was over. He hadn’t been shot, he would have known, he would have felt the sensation of a bullet ripping through synth-skin. Panam looked at him, oddly enough, with concern considering how they had spoken to each other. He turned away from the female nomad, walking away from her.

“V?” Panam called out, as he clung to the truck before he faltered. “V, are you okay?”

“F-fine.” V managed to sputter, falling to one knee. “Need, fuck, where are those syringes?”

V patted himself desperately as he tried to think of where they were, Vik said he needed them to keep the hallucinations at bay (whether they were Johnny or otherwise), as well as keep himself from falling into cybernetic rejection. He had the case somewhere, he knew it. Yet as he patted himself down, the case was nowhere on his person. He almost lost his grip of the car before Panam tried to her hardest to keep him up. The limp side of his body was being propped up by her as he lost grip of the truck.

“V, V, you’re going to be okay! Just, fuck, stay awake, okay?” Panam had ordered, her face in his as she shouted orders directly at him. “V, come on, you have to help me here. Shit! I have to take you to the camp, I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.”

V grunted, gasped, clawed for control of his body, but gained none. He was leaning on Panam as she forged ahead valiantly, forcing him into the passenger seat of the car before strapping him in. She’d clambered into the driver’s seat, looking at V before he had passed out as the truck thundered through the tunnel and back to the camp that both her and V had begun to despise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, some of you will be surprised by how Panam and V will be talking to each other in this. However, there is a lot of trauma from both sides and that doesn't necessarily equate to an immediate liking to each other, especially after ten years. V has issues, plenty of which won't go away and those syringes mentioned here and in 13: Burning Sulphur are what will keep V going until he stabilises. Remember, he was in a coma for three days and immediately went on a warpath. It's pure rage and vengeance he's going off of at the moment. It's not a great energy source.  
> Also, if you want a little soundtrack to the fights, Metal Gear Rising's 'Hot Wind Blowing' would be the ideal song for this, IMO.  
> -Apollo


	17. Your Dreams Be Tossed and Blown

**_06/09/2077  
Aldecaldo Camp, somewhere in the Badlands  
Free State of Northern California  
V and Panam  
_-  
**“He’s been put on a drip, and he’s still not woke up. Is he gonna be okay?”

“We can only assume, if somebody, as augmented with bio-ware and cyberware, has been in this state, there’s no idea what he’s been through to get him to this point. It could, quite literally, have been anything.”

“But he was fine, he looked fine! He was fighting like a man possessed, he argued like he was fine! What’s happening to him?”

“He’s almost forty per cent cybernetics, Panam. He’s more robot than me and Scorpion combined, you said he mentioned he was with Militech after he left NUSA?”

“Yeah, but he’s not crazy, he’s not going cyber-psychotic! He was fine!”

“Panam, look at him. The arms, legs, eyes. Look at the display, girl, lungs, vessels, heart, half of his intestinal track and gut has been taken out for cybernetic reasons. His stomach is the only thing that’s been transplanted to make way for everything else. You heard of anyone by the name of Adam Smasher?”

“Don’t you dare compare him to that thing! He’s nothing like that! He’s got a face; he’s got a human body. Just because he’s been torn apart and put back together with some nuts and bolts doesn’t make him any different than Mitch and Scorpion!”

V wasn’t used to the concept of heat lingering on his exposed skin, the idea of such an experience was thrown away when he arrived in Night City and realised that the only way up in the world was constant work in a city that guarded its inner sanctuaries with the bodies of skyscrapers. He existed in places where the sun would never reach his pale, synthetic skin, where he would arise from basements and secret facilities under the cover of night, often sleeping through the day in the early years before waking up at six and then going straight back underground, scouring through offices and departments, looking dead in the eyes of the people who were suspected of having loyalties elsewhere.

The sun was warm, its warm grip flickering against his skin as he was stuck to the feeling of lukewarm leather, the beeping and constant sounds of medical machinery ticking away as he felt connected to more computers. The experience was becoming more common than he liked to admit, at least at Militech he could stand and allow himself the courtesy of plugging himself in. Being forced down, plugged in whilst in a state of unconsciousness was almost like being captured, then treated like a pig that was on the way to be gutted.

“Did he ever say what was in the syringes, Panam?” A deep, undisputedly male voice asked. “That stuff looks like some high-quality ‘dorph they’d give us in the military, don’t you think, Mitch? It’s not neuropozyne, can tell you that much.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not gonna help right now.” An older man’s voice, more refined spoke. “Might be to help with cyber-rejection, that silver arm. It’s normal, bar the elbow spike so he shouldn’t be going through any cyber-rejection. Ain’t like the other arm or anything else for that matter. Mitch, you saw this before?”

An exasperated female growled. “Does it really matter if one arm is different compared to everything else? It’s all cybernetics anyway, he kicked Nash’s ass well enough with it. He just looked out of it, least he did afterwards.”

A much louder voice was next, accent more like from the east coast than anywhere else. “That’s gotta be his operating system, the scans from the ripperdocs said it had a huge engram transferred to it. Whatever’s in those syringes, it’s meant to treat some fuckin’ serious shit, for the cybernetics, as well as for the trauma. Shit, look, he’s waking up.”

The mercenary was confined to the leather seat, his arm slowly moving as somebody finally freed him from the confines of his wired prison. His arm went immediately to cover his face, the shade provided allowing him to open his eyes more and more before somebody had wheeled him around to a more permanent source of coverage. His arm fell to his lap, V realised he’d been strapped into a wheelchair with a small group of men and one woman surrounding him. Panam was pacing in one spot, with two older males observing V’s vitals at his left as two more cybernetically-enhanced guys were standing side by side, next to Panam as she walked incessantly around.

V had almost immediately tried to take the pads that were attached to his chest off, the devices keeping the older men aware of V’s condition. One of them had already stopped the ex-nomad from ripping devices off his bare skin, almost getting his hand crushed by the silver arm before he wrested control away from the disoriented cyber-soldier. The old man had rushed away for a moment, shaking his hand vigorously before laughing aloud as he observed quietly.

The former soldier was quiet for a moment, observing his surroundings in silence as the two camp elders took off the devices that measured his pulse as they agreed his vitals seemed to be fine. Freed of the devices planted on his chest, V managed to clamber from the wheelchair before he wandered back into the sun, the crowd following as the man turned to look. Flatbeds and tanker trucks on the inside sector of the camp, various bikes and vehicles being repaired and welded with spare parts and plate for resistance. Men and women dressed in garbs of grey, beige, brown, attire suited for the desert heat of the California badland.

He was in the centre of the camp, a small firepit doused out as the sun provided the warmth for the day as the wind whistled around the camp. Some of the cars and trucks sprayed with the sigil of the clan, the burning skull of the horse.

“No, no, I can’t be here,” V muttered to himself, turning to the group behind him. “Give me my gear, I need to go.”

The group had soon brought the shirtless soldier into the shade once more, sitting him down in the wheelchair once more before Mitch had offered him a canteen filled with cold spring water. V had taken it slowly, taking laborious sips of the cold liquid before the man took his canteen back. V was quiet, looking at them as he took in each face and name. Mitch and Scorpion, dressed in two uniform green jumpsuits, utility harnesses tight over their chest and legs, arms replaced with cybernetic prosthesis’. The only way he could tell the difference between the two was the fact that Scorpion was hiding under the hood of his suit, pale skin and brown eyes the only thing visible to V.

“V, I had to bring you back to camp. You would have burnt to death otherwise.” Panam stated, with Mitch pushing the canteen back in V’s direction. “You might not like it, but it was the only way.”

Teddy, the doctor had managed to realign his mobile medical gear, placing it in some metal grips on the handles of the chair. His tank top was adorned with a medical apron, and a tool belt filled with devices and instruments that could slice and dice as well as they heal and repair. His baldness was only an indicator of what Mitch’s receding hairline would soon become, as Cassidy soon found himself a seat before he sat at V’s side. His silence was kept alive as he made sure V didn’t go into static shock due to the fatigue he’d suffered from the past few days.

“Cassidy?” V asked. “You’re still kicking.”

The old gunslinger took out his Single Action Army, twirling it around his finger before he slid it back into his holster. “I’m offended that you’d think I’d let some warm weather and some sand take me down, not in a million years, son. Hell, I can still kick some ass if I need to, the Raffens here need an ass-kicking I haven’t delivered since twenty-twenty-three.”

“Cassidy’s alive because he’s got somebody smart enough to keep him from sending his liver into the deepest pits of alcohol poisoning,” Teddy remarked with a laugh, garnering a half-hearted sneer from the aged shootist. “That, and he’s too good with a revolver for his own good.”

“Panam saved your ass, V.” Mitch mentioned from the blue. “She was right, the ripperdocs had to give you a system reset and then take a look at, well, everything. Panam managed to recall your car and give you those drugs it looked like you needed. Guess it’s a good thing you had some keys for that little dancer you got there.”

“Thanks, for everything,” V muttered, trying to get up before Panam had effortlessly pushed him back down. “I need to leave. Thanks, for the help, but I need to leave.”

Scorpion was next, as V handed Mitch back the canteen once more. “V, it’s okay. Don’t be a gonk, you can relax. Ain’t nobody here gonna try and kick you out, not yet anyway.”

“Scorp, really?” Panam growled.

“What, it’s true!”

V grimaced. “Look, like I said, I appreciate the help but I am an exile for a reason. I can’t be here.”

“You are goddamn right; you can’t be here. For the same reason I had to kick you out when you were some upstart kid, you brought more trouble to our doorstep yet again but it was in our camp’s self-esteemed collection conscience that we had to bring you back to help some exile who we thought we’d gotten rid of ten years ago.”

The group turned around to see one more figure stalking towards them, Panam the only one to fully ignore him and not turn to face the man. The way he walked, nodding at Mitch, Scorpion, Teddy and even Old Cassidy to move on before he finally made himself visible in the shade to an older V. A large, well-built and bushy-haired man clad in black boots, cargos and a vest. Panam had almost immediately looked at him with a subtle ire in her eyes, as the matured camp leader arrived. Saul Bright had remained the camp leader since V had left, in spite of the former soldier’s wishes. Saul’s gaze lingered on the ex-nomad, almost glaring daggers at the man before he turned to Panam.

“You brought him here, again after he did exactly what he did the last time he was here. He might not have left the Raffen here, but he’s damn well made them aggressive because of what you did. You’re lucky you killed Nash when you did, Panam, otherwise you could join him when he leaves.” Saul rounded off, turning to V. “And you, you know exactly what you did. You are Raffen Shiv.”

V rolled his eyes. “Yep, don’t worry, I know. I discussed this with Panam, but apparently, you two disagree with each other more than we did when I first saw her. At least you recognised me.”

Panam turned to V, scowling. Saul’s expression was similar. “You left this camp with an audio implant, and now look at you. Barely human, you never valued what was given to you at birth, you were pure human without a speck of cyberware. I’m surprised I recognised you at all.”

V got up, standing equal to Saul. “You know what, you can lecture me all you want about me giving away whatever I was given here. I didn’t give it away; you took it from me because you didn’t have the sack to make the right call for the camp, for me and for Panam.”

“V, don’t make this worse than it already is, you just woke up.” Panam pressed, placing a hand on his shoulder. However, before V could reply, Saul had already socked him across the chin.

The cyber-soldier hadn’t moved a muscle, other than his hand rubbing against the area that was hit. V smiled, readying himself for the fight he’d wanted for a decade. “Saul, I’ll let you have that one. Guess all this chrome is too much for a pure nomad like you huh? What’s the matter, am I too much of a corpo sell-out for you? You don’t like how I look, not enough real skin to cover up the arm? What’s the matter, Saul, you not man enough to really swing for me, or are you just scared?”

Saul and V stood toe to toe; Saul’s hands clenched, a look of pure disgust on his face. “You’ve changed, and not for the better, V. Considering how much humanity you have left, as little as it is, it’s no surprise you worked for the corpos from what I heard. From NUSA to Militech? I’m surprised you just didn’t join the rest of degenerates that I thought you would have, the ones that shirked responsibility and didn’t care about the greater good of the camp. The metal, the wires, the fake skin, shows what you are V, don’t forget that.”

V nodded, Panam pacing again as she allowed the two to have their pissing match. “Yeah, fuck you too, Saul. You always were an arrogant piece of shit. Is me being here challenging your authority, because I never asked to be here!”

“Don’t act like I’m the bad guy, V!” Panam cut Saul off, almost immediately ready to hit him like she’d done prior. “I did this for you, you would have burnt if I left you there.”

“Panam, I’d rather have burnt to death, just so you know,” V growled out of anger, turning to look at Saul once more. “Get this out of the way, just say whatever you want to say because I can still remember what you said to me ten years ago before I left.”

“You are Raffen Shiv, and it shows,” Saul stated. “You know, I’m thankful that Jonah died long before he ever had to see you again. Peace to the old man, and I would never claim to speak for him but I just know he’d be disappointed in you. You should have heard what he said when you left-”

V had moved lighting fast, his head darting right into Saul’s nose as the camp leader fell down to the sand under the shade. His nose gushed a river of crimson. Panam cried. “V! What the fuck?!”

The ex-corpo ignored her, crouching over the stunned Saul as he gripped him by the collar. “Thanks for letting me know, now remember this the next time we ever cross paths. You speak to me, like a disappointed parent or even think about talking to me in a way that needs you to mention what that man did for me, and _I will fucking kill you.”_

V had dropped him back to the rocky and sand-covered ground before he walked off. The sun glared over his back, implants in his spine and shoulders heating up in the sun as Saul eventually managed to shake off the blow. The mercenary had already walked to the outer edge of the camp, Panam chasing him down as he began to leave. The Outlaw was parked in the shade, crystal dome tech blocking out the sun as its owner approached. V’s silver hand clenched tight, he screamed internally as he just managed to stop himself from ripping the roof off of his own car. Eventually, Panam had caught up, standing behind him before she heard it.

A bestial scream, one loud bellow erupting like a sudden breaching explosion. He let himself go, the shirtless half-cyborg let loose, punching into the unbreakable crystal-dome window, his metal hand hitting the screen before reeling back before thrusting forward violently to hit it again. Grunts of anguish, cries that sounded like a mixture of absolute pain and terror merged with terrifying rage. Pounding against an immovable object, Panam watched with a visage of worry. This wasn’t the V she knew, the one she cried for when he rode off into the sunset so she could stay with the clan.

She always liked to imagine a scenario where she would see him again, where she could genuinely be happy to see him again out of the blue and perhaps beg Saul to let him back in the clan. She’d be walking through a city, somewhere like the Boston Nomad Market, just bump into by sheer coincidence. He’d still have the long hair, the braids he’d done for himself, a little more chiselled and battle-hardened. She could throw herself into a hug when she spotted him, tell him everything she’d been through over the ten years she hadn’t seen him, but had missed him all that much more.

This wasn’t V. The cold steel tags she held in her hands labelled the man as Virgil McCall, somebody else that had taken the name of a man who had raised him and given himself a proper name. She could remember when he used to get bullied for not having a full first name, but how he could always just shrug it off after the fact and say that it made him special compared to everyone else. No, the manufactured flesh, cold chrome and synthetic organs had turned her V into a beast of a man. She could remember when Mitch and Scorpion returned, how they’d scream in the night from the traumatic stress and the withdrawal of the drug cocktails that had been given to the former panzer-boys.

He screamed like them, raged and stomped and cursed and beat himself sore before he turned around to see her almost wanting to cry at him. She’d done what she’d thought was right, and he said he’d rather have burnt to death in a tunnel, halfway to cyber-psychosis, with nobody knowing his fate.

His face was beet red, the mismatched eyes burning holes into her so hard she thought she could feel it as he fell to his knees. “Just go away, Panam. Just leave. Give Rogue what she wants and don’t come back to Afterlife, no, don’t come back to Night City. Tell Saul and everyone here, just tell them to get as far the fuck away from this place as possible. This place, it just drags you in and doesn’t let go.”

Panam approached, kneeling next to him as she placed her calloused, muddied hands on his shoulder. “You need to leave too, look at what it’s done to you. You can’t stay there; can’t you see that?”

“I can’t leave, not yet.”

“Not yet? What do you mean, anything has to be better than this, V.”

A man she didn’t know looked back at her, delicately shrugging her off as he stood up and opened the car door. His gear gently placed in the passenger seat. “You’ll know why I can’t leave the moment it happens to you too.”

In one swift moment, Panam had pushed herself away from the car as the door slammed shut. The windows were blocked out, the crystal dome system closing V away from the camp, the iconic engine screeching in her ears as the wheels kicked up dust, the car shooting off across the sand and back onto the trails and tarmac. She’d gone silent, unable to vocalise her thoughts or the words she’d waited ten years to say. Instead, all that ran through her mind were the words that she’d regretted saying, the actions she’d taken. Punching him, swearing at him, vocalising all the hostility that had built up when he wasn’t around. He’d always said that he could read her like an open book, that he could see that she was so angry that the whole camp could feel it when they were younger.

Apparently not that much had changed for her, but for him, V was just somebody she used to know.   
**-  
** V had driven off, far away from the camp as quickly as the car could go. The Outlaw was not meant for outdoor, over-the-road terrain and it felt about as rough as V did at that very moment in time. The car drifted from left the right, the sand clogging in the wheel arches as he wrestled for control of the car. The camp got further and further away as he drove quicker, and a sense of comfort washed over him as soon as the place was no longer visible in his wing mirrors. He’d occasionally daydreamed of finding them again when he wasn’t as damaged and ruined as he was.

Those dreams died quickly.

The air conditioning in the car was soothing, cool air blowing over V as something akin to classical music played on the radio. His tiredness soon caught up to him, sluggishly driving on the freeway before he’d finally reached the city. The night-time traffic remained as painful as it always was, and as V sat in silence, he activated his holo as he flicked through his messages that he’d missed out on. Messages weeks old from his fixers, offering jobs before another message was sent informing the job had already been taken by somebody else. Jackie’s profile came up, and V almost wanted to vomit out of the fact that he’d still seen him die that day, how V had failed him so many times since then.

_“You wish that we’d gone straight to bomb ‘Saka Tower yet, kid? I know I am. You think you hate Smasher; you hate that Japanese fuck that took your eye, just wait till you get killed by them. All you are is just a cog in the machine, look at you. Could have just given the nomads a little handjob and they would have welcomed you back with open arms. No, you’ve been sucked into the corporate world for so long you think just like them.”_

_“Johnny, go away.”_

_“Can’t, I’m stuck in your head, remember? You want me out, you’re gonna have to take one of those pistols and blow your fucking brains out like I wish you would. Can’t believe I got stuck inside some corporate whore’s head, out of all the people. Damn, I wish you’d kill yourself so we could end both of our pain right now. Screw it, crash this car off a freeway and end it.”_

_“Johnny, please…”_

_“What is begging the last resort? Can’t be a corpo, can’t be a nomad so you wanna beg for me to stop telling you the truth you don’t want to hear? You fucked up, and I try to help you through it all and you still won’t listen to a word I say. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a body to bury. Without me, you’d be fucked. I should take this body for a spin, least that way I could actually be useful to someone.”_

V reached for his case; a syringe ready in his hand. _“Johnny, I swear to god.”_

_“Do it V, shut me up for a while. You do you, I’ll just come back to haunt you, I’m just a ghost in your machine. Kill me off, can’t be any more painful than watching you fuck up your life even more.”_

_“Fuck you, Johnny, maybe shutting you up for once will teach you a lesson.”_

_“THEN DO IT.”_

_“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”_

The syringe plunged into his chest, the plunger pushing in the mix of the drugs that would have kept him sane for hopefully as long as possible. The voice of the rockerboy had gotten quiet, silent, and V was soon left with the peace he’d yearned for. He’d ignored the profile for his dead friend, flicking through to Rogue as he pinged her a message. Panam had her cargo, call her up for it. Rogue had messaged him back right after, an image of a shard in her hand. The info he wanted, no, the info he needed if he wanted to continue. Messages from Misty and Mama Welles, the _ofrenda_ for Jackie being two days away. Misty was aware that V would do his own thing, but V had messaged Mama Welles as politely as possible to at least make her aware that he would be there.

Then there was Meredith. He wondered if she ever had an off-day.

He’d already begun to ring, waiting an exorbitant amount of time before she answered.

“V? What the fuck, where have you been? It’s been a week and a half; you could have called earlier!”

“Couldn’t call without getting attention, it’s as simple as that,” V replied, curt and formal. “You free tonight?”

Meredith gave a curled lip, her attempt at hiding a smile. “My place, don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  
 **-  
06/09/77  
Blakeford Building, Corpo Plaza  
Night City, California  
V and Meredith  
-  
**The time of day where the staff switched shifts, the day shift for the night. By the time V had managed to at least make himself look presentable, positively delectable as he liked to stroke his ego. He’d thrown his combat gear back into the boot of the car, showering and shaving before slipping into some black suit pants, blackened shirt with a waistcoat. He’d parked up outside the building, opening the trunk of his car as he clipped a holster to his belt and took a Chao, just in case. Throwing on a black and edged trenchcoat, he’d strode into the building like belonged there.

He’d offered a polite smile to the female receptionist, who had smiled back at him as she offered to call up to Meredith, an offer he declined courteously as she allowed him access to the building. Entering the elevator, he’d dug into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter, effortlessly lighting one up. Smoke began to cloud in the elevator before it reached the floor V needed to be on. He’d already finished the cigarette by the time he’d gotten off, crushing underfoot as he left the elevator. Meredith wanted him in by around two, but he was behind by around twenty minutes.

He’d approached her apartment, spending another five minutes just to linger. That would annoy her, but V knew that being fashionably late was always his thing, least when it came to her. She’d do the exact same thing if it was her coming for him, despite her late rush so she wouldn’t be seen slinking around some peasant Megabuilding. He’d even knocked on the door before he entered the apartment.

Walls of familiar off-white and grey greeted him as he entered, slipping his shoes off to the side as he looked around. Two-toned walls, white marble floors with animals pelts as carpets and rugs, rare paintings pinned to the walls, given to her from Asset Management as bonuses for continued hard work and dedication to Militech. Probably given to her for the Flathead job, as well as confirming his death if necessary. Shelves of books, large archaic ornaments and artefacts scattered around as decoration. If V wasn’t a corpo, he would have guessed she were rich, but even so, she’d definitely been promoted.

This was head of department money, perhaps she’d taken a page from V’s book and gotten Verstappen out of the way and made herself the only viable replacement.

He'd wandered to her kitchen, just situated across from her lounge a short pace away. He’d helped himself to a bottle of wine, a white Egon Muller Magnum with two glasses. Pouring one for himself, the mixture of fruit, honey, marzipan and spice lingered on his palate, blessing him with a soothing feeling he hadn’t felt since he’d last seen Meredith in his apartment, after a bottle of Masseto and a bottle of Yamazaki, and many ‘battle wounds’.

As he finished the first glass, he’d turned as soon as he heard a rather loud cough. Meredith, in a white silk nightdress, one that V could most certainly see-through. “I say don’t be late, you turn up twenty-five minutes late, and then you decide on a bottle without my approval? You are something else.”

“You know me,” V replied with a smirk as Meredith approached, a naïve flirtatiousness as she removed his coat. “I have to be fashionably late, and besides, you know this is my favourite.”

Meredith tossed the coat on the nearby couch. “Oh, and it’s all about you, is it? What about me?”

“You get all the attention from me, all of the time.”

Meredith forced the bottle out of V’s grip, with V’s permission of course before she poured herself a glass, and subsequently, two more for herself and V. The ex-corpo had slowly lingered behind her, a shiver running up and down her spine repeatedly as she noticed the shine of a new silver arm on her man. She had been much too used to the feeling of synthetic RealSkin against her own actual body, but the sensations of cold metal made her bite her lip in need. His hands wandered freely, said silver hand gently brushing against her waist as he began to press gentle kisses in the crook of her neck. Her eyes closed, with her attempting to focus on the sensation of his lips against her body. He had soon switched sides of her neck, kissing over the area of skin that harboured her tattoos that she had told him about.

“You, are a tease, V…” Meredith gasped as his grasp tightened on her body. “You think you can just, mmph, kiss me there and get away with it?”

“I just did, why, you gonna punish me for it?”

Meredith turned around; her hand gripped around the open collar of his shirt. “Definitely, that’s if your man enough to take it. Besides, I don’t think you’d last that long anyway.”

V’s head rose up from its place by her neck, his silver hand rising up from her waist to clasp itself around her hand as his other was soon resting on her cheek. She leaned into the feeling of his admittedly soft synthetic skin against her cheek, almost nuzzling against it as she stared into his mismatched eyes. “Why’s that then, Miss Stout? I think I’ve handled you well enough many times before.”

“You are, not the same man that handled me. You might have to prove it to me again. Silver hand, new eyes that finally match again. Who did you let take those parts of you?” She asked, her fingers forcing him to look at her.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, babe.”

“Oh, I’m ‘babe’ now and not Stout?” Meredith teased, pressing herself against him as she slowly undid the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. “Well, Mr V? What am I?”

“Whatever you want to be?”

“Don’t play me like that, V.” She said, removing his waistcoat as it fell on the kitchen floor, her nails slowly dragging down his chest. “Tell me, what am I?”

V grumbled a sound that seemed like more of a contained growl as his eyes never left her half-naked form. The white shift didn’t leave much to the imagination, her toned physique, rounded breasts with a supple rear. His hands drifted down to the small of her back as he smiled, shrugging off his shirt. “What would you say, if I said you were mine?”

Meredith smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, I definitely would not disagree. You’re a real charmer, when you want to be, you know that?”

“Can’t help but be when you come at me dressed like that.”

The ex-nomad pressed his lips gently to Meredith’s own, a slow and passionate kiss from both sides as her hands fell to his belt before his own hands slowly began to peel away the shift, her arms pulling up as she was left naked in front of her lover. He did not struggle to lift her from the floor, pulling her against his chest before she kissed him again and again, lips dragging against his cheeks, neck and jawline as they ended up in Meredith’s bedroom.

As soon as V had let her fall to her feet, she’d already stripped him bare before pouncing at him. The sensation of his entire new arm was a shock to her, the silver welded and bolted straight to his shoulder in one of the finest patch jobs she’d ever seen. Her hands wandered on the arm, almost obsessed with the beauty of the limb as V paid his full attention to her pleasure. She’d pressed his cybernetic arm against her heart, against her skin and shivered at its touch on her skin. His teeth lightly dug into her neck, sucking on her as much as he could, leaving marks wherever he could, visible and non-visible. Her hands grasped into his hair, fresh, yet longer than it had been since the last time she had met him.

He’d wanted her this time, instead of the other way around. He’d called out of the blue, almost ordering her around as if he had never left Militech, asking her that if she was free and that he would be coming. He’d pushed her against the bed, as he usually did before crawling on top of her, his hands clawing at her almost desperately as he yearned for her in a way that she never experienced before.

In prior engagements, the feeling had been distinctly mutual in that it was just sex. Yet, unlike other the corporate robots she’d been forced to work for, he had a sense of emotion that was foreign to most desk jockeys and net-runners, he just cared. He’d caused her to open up, and in a way, it was freeing for her to be able to do so. In her own way, she’d done the same for him. She’d been an overseer for the Cypher-9 Task Force, his unit, they were all at least forty per cent cybernetic. V was the bare minimum but had never shown his hesitance for her touch until she’d done it on purpose and out of curiosity. That moment, he’d almost immediately caught on and followed her out of the info centre, into her private office.

_“Do not touch me.”_

_“Why, don’t tell me the cyber-soldier scared of his big, bad supervisor? Don’t tell me your one of those neurotic types.”_

_“Look, if you’re trying something, just say it. Don’t prance around the subject if all you want is something that you’re too afraid to say to me. If you’re scared to say, just leave me alone.”_

_“You’re useful, and I think you could be useful to me in a small personal endeavour. That’s all. I just needed confirmation on my suspicion.”_

_“And?”_

_“I’ll need you at the No-Tell Motel, a night from now.”_

He’d realised he adored her, the more that she touched him, whether it was his skin or the synthetic material. Even more so when she pressed his new arm to chest, clasping her hand around it as she pressed against the rapid beating of her heart. He could feel her humanity, something he’d been told he’d rejected pulsing through the metal, wiring and fake nervous system of his arm. His arm snaked around her neck, pulling her into a burning, feverish kiss. He’d licked and sucked at her, pressing himself into her, Meredith gasping in surprise as her eyes closed, feeling all of him.

A sensation she’d so sorely missed, the frantic need for him to be so close to her that she could just touch him, to know he was there and that all of his attention was dedicated solely to her. She knew he wanted to say those words, so did she in a sense. The only thing keeping them from saying it was the fact that both of them could be dead the next day, from incompetence or greed. She could tell from his want, his need, that he’d experienced that fear ever so recently. She’d responded in kind, stopping him from tiring himself out before she could give him something back.

She’d forced him up the bed, lying him against the pillows as they went under the sheets as he let her get on top of him. She’d forced her hands against his chest, nails digging into his real skin as she pressed into him fiercely, his hands falling to her hips. As she’d rode him, she felt herself come undone multiple times, losing herself in the moment as she’d fervently kissed him as he let go too.

The pair looked into each other’s eyes, her own green eyes staring into his Kiroshi blue ones. His tear ducts were still intact, somehow, as tear lines dragged down. Her hand slowly brushed against his cheek, pressing them away as he had done the same for her as she had slowly melted into her bed and rested against his chest. There was a loving silence between Meredith and V, and as V turned to look into her eyes, the back of his hand carefully caressed her cheek. He smiled and pulled her tight against him in yearning as he kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt, quite literally, unable to write this at the end of the chapter. I (in good conscience) cannot do smut for the sake of the bloody thing. I can't dance around the thing either, so here is my terrible hybrid of poorly written emotional sex because V has the emotional consistency of a wet noodle at this point.  
> -Apollo
> 
> (PS: Can you tell I hate writing poor romantic scenes that include sex yet?)


	18. Dead Memories

**_08/09/2077  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The man that V was, or at least the man he had become since he had first arrived in Night City, had despised funerals of any kind.

It was more due to the way of life he had lived beforehand, the feeling of loss and lack of control when somebody passed away in the camp. The elders usually, as wise as they were, weren’t meant to live a life of constant upheaving. The men he had seen the day before, Cassidy and Teddy, old as they were, had lived that life since they were kids themselves, they’d weathered it in life.

He’d left the apartment complex a day later; Meredith having left a note on the bedside table after she herself had left to go back to work. Militech called, and as much as she allowed herself one day to herself with him, that was never an excuse to come back the next day and work twice as hard. That was the corporate life in a nutshell, maybe even more so for those who worked in megacorporations like Arasaka and Militech, PetroChem and Biotechnica.

Night City never stopped, never slept for anyone. Due to that, neither did the corpos.

Before he’d left, he’d taken advantage of his privacy by snooping around the apartment. It was a typical apartment like many would be given as a perk of working for a big corp. Two floors, expensive materials, access to furniture that could cost as much as a new car at a discounted price. He’d showered, drank a cup of coffee before he went to Meredith’s small office space upstairs. Neat and orderly, much like her, and as V flickered through pages and emails from Militech employees he noticed that she had indeed been promoted to the Head of the Reactive Counterintelligence Division, with her commanding his old unit of Cypher-9.

Reports that Verstappen had been skimming off the top of the monthly budgets they’d been given to run the division, as well as unsavoury excerpts from multiple high-class joy-dolls had all but confirmed his exit from the company without any hint of grace or decorum. V getting rid of O’Connor must have given her the confidence to get rid of Verstappen in her own way, her promotion all but confirmed by Killian Stroll from the Internal Communications department of the company, reaffirming her position multiple times in the following days.

She was much more brutal than V had given her credit for, considering how often he saw the much more pleasure-oriented side of her.

(In V’s opinion, that was the much nicer part of her to see. He couldn’t spend five minutes around her unless forced to at work, let alone a full day if she was in her business mindset.)

He’d soon closed down the computer, rearranging her files and papers to the way they were prior to his snooping before he got dressed and soon left the apartment, locking up before smoking another cigarette in the elevator again as he got to his car, and entered the nearest traffic stream.

As he opened the window, he exposed himself to the cool air, the smell of liquid hydrogen in the air as the cars that ran off it slowly burned through the tanks of the new oil, V himself lighting up another cigarette as he circled around the plaza before he slipped onto the nearest bridge when the opportunity presented itself. The drive was much more peaceful, for something that resembled mid-afternoon traffic. He’d too often been left with his thoughts in the past few days, and yet somehow even when he felt a marginal amount better, he was still left doubting himself.

The only upside was that the dead terrorist Johnny Silverhand wasn’t screaming inside his head, he’d been quiet the past few days since he’d taken a hit from his first syringe.

Instead, all his thoughts remained on the old man. Old Jonah McCall, the gunslinger and mechanic that raised him from a shitting baby to a man. Saul dropped his death on him like a fucking rock, how exactly did he expect V to react, using the man like a cudgel of guilt to beat V to emotional brain-death with? The ideas and concepts of how Jonah had died flickered through his mind like a runaway holo-flick, did he die on his own somewhere as he drowned in his own blood from a gunshot? What if he just went away quietly in camp one day and nobody noticed until he never woke up?

He'd never know unless he went back, and he’d severed that link to them much like he’d decided to sever his own arm. He’d done it for his own good, he wouldn’t have been who he was otherwise.

V's grip tightened on the steering wheel as his thoughts languished in a form of hellish purgatory. Maybe he’d done everything wrong since he left, maybe the Aldecaldos were right for once, he’d sold out. Then that would mean that Johnny was right about him being a corporate whore that needed to place a gun in his mouth and pull a trigger as soon as possible as the rockerboy had said.

It wasn’t exactly rare for someone to just off themselves in Night City, ‘ _This is Your Death’_ was one of the most popular shows on the holo-net, people zeroing themselves for a miniscule amount of cash to get their families above the poverty line. The spectacle was the name of the game, whether it was a gunshot straight to the brain or dropping themselves into a vat of gas and setting themselves alight for huge bonuses to their escrow account. V might have vomited more than once watching it, but only if he hadn’t already seen it before. It dulled him to the sight of a dead body, yet not the smells or the words of what others would say.

He tossed the cigarette away, coughing as he did so before he rolled up the windows and sat in the solid quiet of the silent car. Pedals down, driving along like everyone else as he made his way through streams of cars and trucks, weaving through streets and back-alleys before he finally reached the Coyote Cojo. The Valentinos bar seemed to be busier than he expected, the Mexican-based gangoons arriving in strong numbers as V drove down the alley and into the staff parking spot right behind the bar. The sleek black car was covered in a blanket of dust and sand on the wheels and bottom of the car’s body.

He'd placed his trenchcoat and waistcoat in the boot with the rest of his clothes. He and Jackie were never ones that particularly cared for the look of the other, whenever they worked together, they worked their own way as long as it led to some success. Maybe at times, they looked a little out-of-sorts as they did a couple of gigs, but it never really mattered when they were two solos in Watson and rolling in eddies.

If the job had gone right, if V had done something different, they’d still be rolling in eddies and laughing. Outright cackling at how they got away with the heist of the century. They never did.

He felt some small comfort as he felt his smart pistol that was stuck in his holster. The Valentinos had been dressed as usual, gangers that exposed the tattoos and gold-plated cybernetics that they showed off proudly to anyone who felt like looking at them. White vests, tight jeans, fancy trainers and shoes, gangoons that V would have killed at first glance if they had ever got in his way. He’d soon entered the bar, the smell of smoke and alcohol heavy in the air as V approached the bartender.

“Pepe, how you been?”

“Been better, V. You looking for Guadalupe?” the heavy-set Mexican replied. “You want a drink?”

“Estrella Galicia, please.”

“No problem, _jefe._ The big lady is with the memorial, hasn’t moved out of that room much since she came in.”

A cold bottle was taken from the fridges under the bar, popped open quickly and handed to the ex-corpo as he took one laborious sip. Pepe had soon gone to serve some other guests and customers, whereas V remained at the bar with his bottle for a few moments as he dwelled in his solace. He turned to the little alcove at the left side of the bar, a doorway with drapes falling down from it where V could just see some small candles being lit up. A series of pictures at each side of the table, a face in the pictures that held a charming smile that V couldn’t bear to look at. He turned away, the cold sensation of his hand wiping away a light sheen of sweat from his forehead. The bar was becoming busier, and V had soon moved away to find a silent corner before eventually approaching the candle-lit memorial as V finally stood in front of it.

Mama Welles was knelt before the table, almost prostrate as she clutched her hands tightly with a rosary between her tightly clasped hands. Mutterings of a prayer in Spanish, V making out some of the words being directed to God or the Virgin Mary, ideas that V himself had not exactly believed in. Jackie had explained the concept to him, and while it made sense, V couldn’t find it in himself to believe in it. The Aldecaldos had a religion, something akin to extremism in the belief that the flaming horse was their figure of worship, yet V found it too humorous to believe in horsepower as a godly figure.

V’s silence allowed the woman in front of him to continue her prayers. He’d seen her last when he brought her son’s body back to her, her holding him her arms tightly as she thanked him for the deed. Misty had told him when he woke up that she referred to him as one of ‘her boys’ like he was her son. He wasn’t, he never could be. He wasn’t Jackie, he wasn’t a Valentino and he never could be. That wasn’t where he came from.

“V?” Mama said, rising from her knees as she placed the rosary around her neck. “You came, Misty said she had messaged you but you never responded. How are you, _mi Hijo_?”

V didn’t look at her, he couldn’t look her in the eyes yet even still he was unable to look at the memorial either. He was staring at a corner of the roof of the room. “Not well, Mama. It’s been a tough few days, ain’t gonna lie to you.”

“There’s going to be tougher times ahead, V. This loss, it hurts more than any other. I loved my Jacquito, no matter what he did. When he joined the Valentinos, I thought he was making the biggest mistake of his life, yet I still loved him. When you came back with him from that job in Pacifica, I loved both of you. You were like brothers; you were in all but blood. You can at least look him in the eyes, V.”

“I can’t, Mama. I didn’t do him right; he went out thinking I hated him and was in it for the money.”

“And how would you ever know what he was thinking?” Guadalupe replied, her hand brushing his cheek as he managed to look at her. “My Jackie was a complicated man, so are you. If you died, he would have thought the same thing as you, or if you had both lived, would you have been fine with what you had said when it was all said and done?”

“I… I don’t know. I wouldn’t know.”

“Exactly.” Guadalupe smiled, softly as her hand fell and she turned to the table. “I miss him, every day I think of what he would be doing today and what he would say, but I know that I spent the best twenty-five years of my life raising that boy into a man. You did what I could not, what nobody could, you brought him back to me. That’s the one thing I wish I could have done for him.”

V was silent, beer bottle tight in his hand as he slid past Mama Welles and looked at the memorial, the pictures of a baby Jackie growing and maturing into the man that V knew and worked with, went drinking and partying with on an almost constant basis. His cocksure attitude, confidence and wry smile when he knew he could get away with something. He was the softer edge for V, he made sure that V always had that hope to keep going in such a shitty place like Night City. In reverse, V was the counter, he kept Jackie’s head in the game and kept him grounded in reality. Being two sides of the coin worked well enough for them.

Lowering his beer bottle, his free hand picked up one of the pictures with him and Jackie in it. Jackie and V, smiling in better days when they had just gotten off with one of their hardest jobs after they’d fled the Voodoo Boys in the Pacifica. He’d cracked a smirk, putting the photo back down before he saw Mama Welles sitting by the side of the memorial. She was praying again, and with the shake of some of the drapes, V turned to see Misty walk through. Mama Welles would not look at her boy’s partner, but Misty silently asked V to join her. He soon followed her out and through the back of the bar.

There was a small storage unit behind the back of the Cojo. Misty had leant against the wall at the side of the door, her black dress clinging to her arms as she exposed her admittedly pale skin to the Night City sun. Her hair, instead of being a wild and fuzzy mess, was straightened and tied into a round bun. She still wore her spiked bracelets and collar, but she was not the same as she was when V had seen her with Jackie.

“Misty,” V mumbled, walking straight into her arms as she hugged him. “It’s been a while, well, since I woke up.”

“I know, and you look, well, okay considering everything that’s happened. Vik does good work, huh?”

“That he does.” V managed to reply, leaning against the wall next to her. “This storage unit, you know what it is?”

“Jackie told me that it was his quiet place. He’d come here whenever he really needed to think. I never really went inside; I don’t know what it’s like. He’d always said that a man sometimes needs a private place where he could think of everything. He was…”

“Occasionally mature, in his own way,” V muttered, grabbing the storage unit door with his Gorilla Arm, pulling the heavy door up and opening the unit. “Come on, let’s see what’s inside.”

“I can’t. Mama Welles, she’d hate me for it. All I’ve done is sit here since he’s been gone and waited. Sometimes an hour, sometimes two. I know it’s all gonk but sometimes I just think he’ll ride around that corner on his bike and everything will be fine, but it’s not. I miss him, a lot.”

V pressed. “It’s not gonk, not at all. He’d want you to know what he was like, to see what he was really like when he wasn’t being all, I don’t know, Jackie ‘Heart on his Sleeve’ Welles. He loved you a lot, you know. He’d asked me if he could borrow the car so many times so you two could go out, it was almost a second nature to say yes.”

“I know. He’d speak about you a lot too.” Misty replied as she entered the unit with V. “You actually got to know him, the real Jackie that is. Everyone else saw him as a goof with a rough face and an edge.”

“So, did you too, Misty. So did you. You saw him in a way that barely anyone else did, even if you were only with him for a year.”

The storage unit itself was like any other, drab, grey walls filled with shelves of stuff that Jackie had collected either due to the usefulness or just for the decoration of the drab little room. Dull light fixtures on the walls and roof had lit the room. Heavy weights, a punching bag, pin-up posters for models and celebrities that Jackie had worshipped in his younger years. Old records and music tapes that Jackie would turn on whenever he was on, or if he was with V. It was his hideaway, and another side room still had yet to present itself to the pair as they walked in and observed in silence.

“Misty, if you don’t mind me asking, what did you see in him? You know, when you first started dating him?” V posited, the girl demurely observing the room. “Just out of curiosity, I mean, he wasn’t gonna say that to me.”

Misty smiled. “He said to me, just out of the blue when we were walking around the city at night. He was disappointed that you’d had to give him a rain check because of work, but that he’d happily spend the night with me anyway even if you were there.”

“Guess we know who was his favourite.”

Misty smirked as she tried to hide her giggle. “Anyway, he’d said that he’d take a bullet for me. Gladly, even if it meant he’d die if he did it. We’d known each other since we were kids, but we barely talked until a year ago. He just came out with that, and then well, I just knew him as this guy who had some real dreams and aspirations with me in them.”

V nodded, at least his suspicion that Jackie was serious in regards to his relationship with Misty. She’d always been a kind and gentle soul, at least in his own experience with her. She’d patched him numerous times with Vik’s aid, she’d stood vigil for him and Jackie after the job. She’d forgiven him for what happened to Jackie, or at least V hoped she had done, he still couldn’t do it himself.

V turned to his right, swivelling past a crate of original distribution Fabrillo Rum and looking at the bright red ARCH motorcycle that just screamed whenever Jackie was coming towards him. If anything, it was his most prized possession. V’s hand fell upon the fine stitching of the seat and leather-covered handles, a toolbox laying near the front wheel of the bike indicating that Jackie had just finished repairs on it before he left for the Konpeki job. Next to the toolbox, a copy of _For Whom the Bell Tolls._

“Fine piece of metal and mechanics. He was psyched when he got this thing.” V muttered, Misty humming to herself as she fiddled with the signed basketball from one Donte Gonzalez before placing it back down. “The book, _For Whom the Bell Tolls_.”

“Any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind; and therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee,” Misty said, approaching before she held the book in her light grasp. “He’d read the book a thousand times before a big job, and that’s his favourite line. He’d repeat it, off by heart whenever he got the chance. Said the guy who wrote it was probably the toughest bastard since Morgan Blackhand.”

“Real tough bastard then, I guess,” V grunted, taking the book in his hands.

Misty had soon wandered from the tool bench and bike storage, into the next room. A much more contained, warmer feeling was inside. The room still had that smell of deodorant that he would wear and aftershave that smelt of old wood and whiskey. It would have been intoxicating, and V could imagine the man sitting inside on the couch reading the book. Besides the nice red leather couch was a small aquarium, emptied out whilst his computer desk sat right in the far-left corner of the room. In front of the couch, a small collection of cinderblocks put together, a large and aged blanket placed over it.

Misty had gasped, pressing her hands to it from the couch as she brushed away prickling tears from her eyes. “It’s a mandala? Jackie, you…”

“You okay, Mist?”

“I’m, I think I’m better than alright.” Misty managed to gasp between silent cries. “I, I once told him he needed to sweep out this place, get rid of all the dark energy that was lingering around. A mandala would do the trick, I’d mentioned. He’d said he’d make a mandala, and then he’d turn it into a castle, or a home, the Welles family hideout.”

V smiled, sitting next to Misty as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I guess you made a bigger impression than you thought, huh?”

“It seems I did. The stitching is awful and the colouring is hideous but, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The pair were silent. Misty was stifling her emotion, attempting not to cry in her man’s sacred place whilst V milled around, searching for anything else that he hadn’t already discovered. Even if Misty and himself hadn’t seen inside the unit before, Jackie had definitely made mention of some things. The bike, the rum, the old bottle Centzon Tequila that was one of the first-ever made. His pinups and his signed basketball, the mandala that made Misty melt away in her love for the man she’d lost.

“Come on, we’d better get going. Mama Welles is gonna start any minute.” V stated, standing in the doorway.

“I’m gonna say goodbye to him here, V. Mama isn’t gonna want me there anyway.”

V shook his head. “What do you mean? You got beef with Guadalupe or something?”

“She didn’t see me as daughter-in-law material, as much as Jackie liked to protest. She just hasn’t taken to me, don’t think she ever will.” Misty sighed aloud. “Her words were, ‘she isn’t like that Camilla you used to hang out with’. Camilla being Jackie’s ex-output. Valentino girl. Mama Welles’ favourite.”

“Right. Come on, let’s go.”

“V…”

V swivelled around once again. “You have every right to be there, whether or not Mama Welles wants you there. If she really wants to be like that, I will talk to her. This place, it’s for family, and to Jackie, you were family just as much as I was.”  
 **-  
** The ceremony for Jackie had begun shortly after V and Misty had entered the bar again. In the private room, there were seats in front of the memorial stand as Guadalupe stood first in front of it. V was on the front row, the seat to his left empty as Mama Welles had stood. Next to him, Viktor and Misty, and around them were many others who knew of Jackie Welles. Valentinos, neighbours, his friends and family. In silence, Mama Welles had taken off her rosary and placed it on the memorial stand before she turned to the gathering.

“I thank you all for coming today,” she began, “I am not going to tell you about what kind of man my son was, or lament about how much I miss him. Instead, there is a story I wish to tell. When he was nineteen, he was in the Valentinos and fighting against the Maelstrom. One day, I get a call from the hospital. He’d been shot, three times by his heart. When I got there, he was conscious but what I saw… He had so many tubes and wires connected to him, he looked like a _pulpo._ Like an octopus or something like that. He tells me, ‘don’t worry Mama, I’m bulletproof. Nothing bad’ll ever happen to me.’ So, when I go, he takes off the ring that Gustavo gave to him when he joined. He swears he’d never need it anymore. He wasn’t scared, he just never wanted an old lady to worry. I love you, and I will always love you, Jacquito. Rest in peace, my sweet boy.”

She placed the ring she had taken from her pocket inside the rosary chain, pressing a kiss to it before she moved on and sat down next to V. Vik had stood up next, and as he had done so, V placed his hand on Mama Welles’. It was odd, seeing Viktor Vektor in something that wasn’t his doctor gowns and a surgical apron. He’d donned a black suit, sunglasses and carried a pair of boxing gloves in his hands. He’d placed one down on the table, next to the rosary and ring before he spoke.

“Among the membership of the Night City Devils Boxing Club, we always had a saying: make your best friends amongst the fighters that can knock you out cold. Jackie was one of my best friends, and his arm was like a goddamn shotgun. No one has ever hit me as hard, and to this day I can still remember the feeling. I paid him back with everything I did for the kid, fixed his cybers, checked him up when he needed it. Anything for a friend, we’d always say. A knockout for a surgery.”

Vik turned to the table once again, arm against his face as he stifled a pained sniffle and cry before he placed the final glove on the table. “Twelve rounds, kid. I’ll miss you, kid, always.” Vik finished, sitting down next to V as the man stood up.

V clutched the book in his grasp, tightly as if he were about to let it fade away out of reality.

“I first met Jackie, when I had just come out of the NUSA forces. Barely a penny to my name, no car, no gun, just the clothes on my back and nowhere to sleep.” V stuttered. “One day, I’m minding my own business, and out of nowhere I see this, douchebag corpo running through the alley I was sleeping in. Jackie’s running right behind him, chasing him down. I trip this dude up and bam, Jackie’s on him. He looks at me, and he picks me up from the street and he’s all like ‘yo choom, come on, you lookin’ like you need a place to stay bro!’ and almost immediately I was put up in an apartment with him and Miss Welles.

“I knew Jackie for seven years, and for every day, every week, every month and every year he had made sure that I was good before he looked after himself. We worked together, we partied together, everything we ever did, we talked about it before it ever happened. He was the one that got me into being a solo, he gave me my first roll of eddies since I got out the forces and he was the one that would save that money I earned so I could get myself a new apartment. When I told him that I got a job at Militech, he was only honest with me. He’d told me that I would be selling my soul to some guys that would never care about what I did, or how far I went for the job, I would be a different person when I came out.

“I hated to admit it because whenever I would see him next, I’d be missing another part of myself. One time, it would be a finger, or a new hand or the one time when I had a new eye put in. He was right, and when I finally left Militech he was the one that told me ‘I told you so’. I’d let him, but he was right. I’m a different person now than when he found me.”

V swallowed a tough breath because what he was saying was the whole truth that he struggled to tell himself at times. He was never the badass cyborg he thought himself all of the time. He’d come out of the Unification Wars a different person, somebody so hopped up on adrenaline, dope and drug cocktails that he was sure that anything in his veins wasn’t blood. He’d left the forces with a new set of arms and legs, rusted, damaged and broken, and he himself a broken person with nothing left.

“Jackie Welles took a chance on me, and he stood by me through thick and thin. He was my friend, my confidante, but most importantly, he was the closest thing to family I ever had. He was my brother.”

The book he was clutching was delicately placed to the left of the rosary beads, ring and boxing gloves. His hand remained against the cover of the hardback because he knew the moment his hand stopped touching it, he’d be leaving something behind. All he could think of was the job, losing him forever and all he had left would be consigned to memories. He swallowed a cry, before stepping away from the table. He sat down next to Mama Welles, Vik and Misty.

Tears rolled down his face freely, but he did not make a sound.  
 **-  
** “Jackie, he would want you to have these.”

V had been half-cut by the time the main gathering had finished for the memorial. Gus Orta and some of the Valentinos had spoken about how they knew Jackie when he was in the gang and how tough he was. It was synthetic grief, for them, it was just another lost soldier, the only difference was that he’d gotten out before a gang war had gotten him. He’d aspired for higher than being a gang leader.

When all was said and done, he’d been with Vik, drinking at the bar and trying whatever he could get his hands on. Tequila Old-Fashioned was definitely not going anywhere anytime soon, and Vik had soon cut the younger man off when Mama Welles had approached him with a large wooden box. Placing it on the bar, she’d opened it for V to see the contents inside. The fine red linen stitched inside contained three things.

A set of keys, the cursive lettering forming the word ‘A R C H’ on the black steel. Keys to Jackie’s motorcycle were slotted above two ornate Nue Japanese pistols. Black steel handles and handguards, the barrel coated in a layer of liquid gold with detailed engravings, a mixture of Valentino art and Japanese technology. He’d closed the box soon enough, hugging Mama Welles before he managed to forgo his drunkenness to do one more kindness for the Welles Family.

“Mama, can you… you do me a f-f-favour?”

“Of course, anything for you,” Mama replied; taking a small shot glass from Pepe as he laid three shots in front of Vik, V and Guadalupe. “To Jackie.”

“To Jackie,” the two men replied.

“What did you need, V?”

“You got to be, be nicer to Misty. You know?” V sputtered, leaning against the bar. “She loved him, like, a fuckin’ lot.”

“Misty? That the name of the little _putita_ that Jackie was messing around with?”

“Her name is… M-Misty. She wassss, very ‘portant to him, _comprende?”_ V slurred as his head rolled from left to right. “Just, talk to her, invite her for dinner. It’s the least she deserves. She was, she loved him.”

“You,” Mama Welles sighed loudly before waving for another shot. “You are a better person than I am, V. Thank you.”

V was soon slurring again, head wavering on his shoulders as he was soon stood up by Vik and carried out. The night flew past him as the two piled into the Outlaw, V placed heavily in the passenger seat with the wooden box on his lap as Vik activated the auto-drive and drove to the Megabuilding of V’s apartment. Parking gently, Vik had carried the drunken solo across the street, up the elevator and draped him on his bed. Vik himself had remained to watch the man, placing a small bowl next to his bed before locking up the apartment.

For once, V managed to sleep without a nightmare in his mind’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next few chapters are gonna be much more calmer, least for now anyway. V's got some sense of temporary closure for his friend, so this mindless violence is gonna die down and we'll see more of an emotionally aware and less aggressive V now.   
> I appreciate the reviews, kudos and bookmarks, you guys do keep me going!  
> -Apollo


	19. Devils Never Cry

**_09/09/2077  
Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**By the time V had woken up, it was already the afternoon and even by then, the sun was already going down. The nightlife of Night City was coming to life, the pricey AVs sliding through the mazes of Megabuildings and skyscrapers as they drifted off to some expensive restaurants, elusive secret clubs for the corporate population as well as some normal speakeasies for those who didn’t wish to be found in the morning.

He didn’t feel great, not by any means as he rolled out of bed still in his clothes from three days ago. The neo-weave shirt and pants smelt like a horrifying mixture of alcohol, grief and sexual frustration. He’d hurled up into the bowl at the side of his bed, thankfully not missing it as a mixture of black liquor, white wine and beer flung itself from his mouth and into the porcelain bowl.

There wasn’t much after the first volume of vomit, but he retched a few times over the toilet with nothing to spew out. The regurgitation was violently unpleasant, and by the time he’d managed to undress, throw his clothes in the wash and get in the shower, he’d hurled twice more into the bathroom sink before he threw himself under the nozzle of the shower.

_Allowing the water to flow over him, the violent glitching returned. Johnny Silverhand, absent of his cigarettes was leant against the wall away from V. “You know, I might just have understood you a little more, considering everything that’s happened since we met.”_

“What, you finally got an idea of what sympathy is meant to be? Took you long enough, Silverhand.”

_“Hey, sometimes that’s just how I am, don’t shoot the friendly messenger.” Johnny held his hands up. “Look, I want to help.”_

V laughed, almost inhumanly when he spoke. “Come on, Silverhand. Don’t throw shit at me and tell me you didn’t mean it. We, me and you, we don’t get on and that’s how it’s gonna be.”

_“Not even if I was to say that I want exactly what you want? Because I do, the only difference is that I don’t have the body to do this with you in person. You know why because Smasher fuckin’ ripped me in half and threw my brain into some computer. Saburo’s greatest enemy, the rockerboy that nuked his home away from home. I want them dead, just like you.”_

“Why would I ever believe that? All you’ve ever done since I put you in my head is taunt me, fuck me around, piss me off.” V admitted, turning around as he washed with soap and shampoo as quickly as possible. “What’s with the change of heart, Johnny?”

_“Looking through your life, everything you went through, you’ve been through this shit just like me. The only difference is you fell far enough to think joining the mega-corps was the best way to win. You’ve played the game; you’ve won and lost.” Johnny rallied as V turned off the shower and towelled off. “Listen, me and you, we’ve seen the same shit. Been with the nomads, joined the army, seen what the fuck America has turned into, some mega-capitalist hell-borne machine that feeds off empty wallets and crushed dreams. We can stop it; we can take back what was taken from us.”_

V looked at himself, and Johnny in the mirror. His hair slowly growing out, looking more and more like the violent rebel as it grew. “You want to continue your fucking crusade, you want revenge.”

_“Personally, yeah, you’re goddamn right I do,” Johnny revealed. “Wouldn’t you? Smasher, that psycho-borg killed your friend, killed me! Saburo’s piece of shit butler took your eye. Don’t lie, you want to get back at them just like me.”_

V had tried to ignore the rockerboy again, brushing his teeth, performing his daily ministrations before he took some pain meds for the headache. Johnny had remained in his apartment, flickering around instead of walking, examining everything about the room. The expensive materials, marble floor, the kitchen with expensive ingredients as well as the armoury that V had installed next to his lounge. Fancy weapons, the wooden case he’d received from Mama Welles the day before. V had been quiet himself, finding a pair of black jeans and some sneakers which he donned before made himself a light dinner.

_“I am right, and you know it.”_

“Okay, so what, you’re right,” V muttered, shovelling some cereal into his desperate maw as Johnny lit up a cigarette. “That doesn’t make us friends, it never will. Okay, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

_“Roger that, V. If that’s how you want to do it, we can do it that way.” Johnny accepted, nodding as he did so. “Just as long as we can agree on how we go about it. We’re gonna burn it down, all of it. Arasaka needs to go.”_

“That might just be the first thing you’ve said that I can agree with,” V muttered, finishing off the food before he went to his wardrobe again. “You say you saw everything, what happened, it’s all in my head.”

_“You got some shit going on, V.”_

V grumbled under his breath, the rocker ripping himself out of V’s reality as the solo finally flickered through his wardrobe. He’d been far too prepared, half of his wardrobe was in his car, compiled of combat gear and operations. It had been too long, far too long since he had actually dressed like a normal person. A black tank top, fresh and ironed nicely with the red Samurai icon emblazoned on the front called to him in a way as he took it off his hanger. Throwing the tank top over his head and tucking it in, V finally felt somewhat refreshed as he took the wooden box from the armoury and placed it on the coffee table as he sat on the couch.

Opening up the fine ebony wooden case, Jackie’s guns and his motorcycle keys called to him too. The feel of the guns themselves was perfect, weighted yet floaty as he twirled them around his fingers. The key for Jackie’s Arch-cycle was light, a small chrome key to activate the engine. Taking all of them, he flicked the key into his pocket before he placed the guns back in the box. Walking down to the elevator, he’d ignored anyone in his way as the elevator creaked and groaned as it took him down to the ground floor.

Exiting promptly, he’d rushed across the streets to the parking complex, finding his car parked perfectly. _Vik doesn’t get enough cred for how good he is,_ V pondered as he got to the car. The city itself was starting to light up as the holo-advertisements bellowed slogans and mottos, street vendors hollered and yelled for customers, streetcars honking and beeping incessantly. Opening the trunk, he saw his gear and weapons expose themselves to him. Once again, he’d geared himself up. Holsters on his thighs, waist and under his arms, another knife around his ankle. The walking arsenal took his choice of weaponry, Jackie’s pistols sliding around his hips, Sovereign against his chest before he got into the driving seat.

V slid around Watson like a pro, he knew the alleys to get through the heavy traffic. Afterlife was calling, and to be more specific, the info that Rogue had under her control was ready for the taking. Johnny was quiet, probably rifling through his memories and experience from when he was a younger man that still believed that the only way to live, was to live with the Aldecaldo clan.

The solo was stewing, however, hands tightening around the steering wheel as he lingered on the thoughts of Old Jonah McCall, the man who had taken him in as a baby, raised him into a worthwhile person. He might not have been the happiest, kindest or just generally an optimistic person, but he was the man who would stick to his guns and do what needed to be done. Memories of when V would hang from the front of his utility harness when Jonah ultimately told him about how his parents were two of the nicest people that he had the privilege of ever knowing.

All V knew was that McCall was his father, just as Jackie had been his brother. They were family, in all ways except sharing the same blood.

It hadn’t taken long for him to get to the Afterlife, parking up next to the truck that was much too familiar. Panam’s Warhorse, the armed and armoured truck making V’s Outlaw pale in comparison when based off usefulness. Getting out, he’d quickly been allowed entry to the club before any others due to his work for Rogue. Emmerich had growled the generic warnings of not causing any trouble inside for Rogue, which V once again took on the chin as he walked past the former Animal ganger.

He’d approached the bar first, greeting Claire once again as he ordered a Jackie Welles, receiving it in record time as he soon approached Rogue’s private booth. Panam was sitting across from Rogue, her entourage not being present again as Squama, Rogue’s bodyguard moved aside for V. The nomad and the fixer looked to V, who had sat opposite to Panam before he placed his drink on the table. Kicking his leg up across his knee, he looked at both of them.

“Please, don’t stop talking for me, I can wait,” V commented, taking his drink as he slowly sipped away. “Honestly, go on. I don’t mind.”

“V, we were in the middle of some business,” Rogue reminded, her icy stare burrowing into his head. “Which it seems you were reluctant to assist in.”

Panam rushed to correct the old fixer. “Not reluctant, he just needed a push. Besides, we got the job done. That’s all that matters, doesn’t it, V?”

V’s eyebrows flickered upwards. “I suppose you could say that, Panam. You got that info for me, Rogue?”

Rogue clicked her tongue, Squama turning from watching the booth’s entry before he threw a shard to V, who caught it mid-air effortlessly. Quickly necking the drink, he stood up. “Preem, Rogue, give me a call if you need anything done properly. Thanks.”

Squama didn’t move back, staring dead at V as Rogue eyed the young solo. “Sit down, you don’t leave until I tell you too. We are all gonna have a little chat, all three of us. Squama, be a gem and get us some drinks from Claire.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The large, dark-skinned man replied, his Haitian accent shining through.

The trio was quiet as Squama went over to the bar, gaining Claire’s attention as she grabbed some bottles and made three drinks specifically for the private booth. It wasn’t long before Claire and Squama returned, a tray of drinks being placed on the table as she returned to the bar and Squama returned to his post. V hadn’t waited, taking a bottle of Galicia before popping the bottle with his silver hand. Panam had waited, looking to Rogue as the older woman took a glass of cold brandy before she allowed the nomad to take a bottle of Peroni, the nomad girl popping the bottle with less attitude than her former friend.

Rogue Amendiares was not stupid, and she was especially not blind to the man that was sat to her right. The dress sense, the silver hand, the goddamned attitude that screamed ‘I don’t give a fuck’ all the time. She knew that the man was V, the young solo who was looking for the fixer that gave him a dodgy contract. However, the way he stood, relaxed, didn’t wait or look to her for a command or allowance. There was a diluted sense of Silverhand about him, and she didn’t like that one bit.

She’d bite her tongue however, keeping quiet as she paid attention to the solo. “You two, a corpo and a nomad. Working together, you find that a little odd? I do.”

“Ex-corpo.” V interrupted; Rogue glared at him. “What, it’s true. I don’t work for Militech anymore.”

“V, you’re gonna be quiet now,” Rogue stated. “Listen to me, both of you. Panam, you’re one of the best smugglers I have in my retinue of assholes that think they are the best. Don’t speak to me like a piece of shit on your shoe, treat me with some goddamn respect and you can keep what trust I have in your abilities.”

She then turned to V. “You, you are an outlier. I don’t know what you are, but whatever it is your doing, is drawing attention. Fucking with the Claws, helping the Mox, you’re useful. In your own way, but you’ve got a little bit of an attitude. Lock that shit up, and you’ll go far if you try hard enough. You’re not Johnny fucking Silverhand, so don’t fucking act like it. You read me, V?”

V was quiet as Rogue berated him, pulling him down from the high he was on from somewhat making peace with the rocker in his head. If anything, he’d taken some of his style in how he’d dressed but he still knew that despite having him in his head, he most definitely was not him. Not yet anyway. He didn’t dare look Rogue in the eye as she belittled him, dragging him down from his high horse in front of Panam. V nodded, drinking heavily from his bottle as Rogue tore him down.

“Roger that.”

“Good, I’m glad we are all on the same wavelength,” Rogue stated before she looked at the nomad. “Panam, you got something to say?”

“Just wish you’d told me you were sending one of your lapdogs on the job with me instead of Squama.” Panam grunted, somewhat reluctantly as the Haitian bodyguard shrugged off a laugh.

“V is not one of my guys, he’s independent. Squama is much more useful and important to me than V is, why, you sound offended that I even sent him to help you. I could have let you do it on your own and not see my cargo at all.” Rogue replied, a knowing smirk on her face. “You know what it sounds like to me, is that you have a little personal history. Sort that shit out, on your own time, I ain’t here to play shrink to the both of you, two idiots. Now that’s all done with, get out of my sight. I’ll give you both a call if I need anything from you.”

The two mercenaries had been swept out as Rogue ordered them to leave her alone. V himself was down, however, he found himself more interested in his half-empty beer bottle than he did in turning to talk to Panam again. Since he had left the camp of his own accord, in a much worse state than he was in the club, Saul had been much more stringent on what Panam did around the camp. She was no longer to do jobs for the fixers inside the city, considering the last one had already violated rules of the camp of associating with Raffen Shiv like the late Nash and the clearly still-living V.

Panam was seething if only just a little. Rogue may have been right, if V hadn’t helped her (in his own way of course) then she might have been dead or at least somewhat injured. She’d had enough rough encounters with Raffen Shiv beforehand, the scars that covered the left side of her hips were evident to that. Nothing compared to the cyberization of V’s limbs, but she’d swore to herself that she wouldn’t get herself unnecessary cyberware. Hell, the only piece of tech she had was a neural interface that was pretty much necessary for general life in twenty-seventy-seven. She’d finished off the bottle she had, slipping it onto the bar that was beginning to get busier and busier as time passed.

Her silver-armed compatriot had continued on his way out of the club, beer in hand as she followed him up the stairs back to the entrance. He hadn’t spoken to her, merely giving Panam the rare side-glance from time to time before they were exposed to the cool Night City air. He’d finished his bottle soon enough, carelessly tossing the bottle on the concrete, smashing it without a care as he approached his car, opening the trunk to equip himself for whatever he was about to do.

For Panam, it was now or never again.

“Hey!”

V had stopped, a second where he registered her voice before he turned to her. “Look, if you or Saul are looking for an apology, well, it’s not happening. I appreciate what you did for dragging me out of the tunnel station, though.”

Panam took a deep breath. “Didn’t sound too grateful when you woke up, though. Not looking for an apology, but I’m sure if you beg Saul, he might let you apologise if you let him headbutt you.”

“Ha! Yeah, that ain’t happening. He knew what he was doing,” V replied. “did you know, about Jonah? It’s okay if you did, I understand if you didn’t want me to know until it was all said and done.”

“He died two years back, complications from some dust storms that messed his lungs up. He didn’t want to change them out, I guess. He went out on his own terms, his choice.” Panam revealed. “I’m sorry, about Saul. I didn’t know that he would use that to try and beat you down with it if he ever saw you again.”

“Eh, fuck him.”

Panam had to smile at that. She sympathised with that point of view strongly. “Would you? You know, ever come back?”

V sighed, the door for the trunk clunking as he shut it. “You know that I can’t do that, Panam. Besides, there’s nothing left for me there. Can’t leave this place, got too much anchored down here to leave.”

“I mean, I know you can’t come back now but I mean if you ever could, would you?”

V didn’t look at her directly when she asked the question, his eyes focused on the stream of traffic that was ahead of the road out of Afterlife’s parking lot. Once upon a time, he would have often dreamt of such a scenario, much like he assumed she had done considering she was the one to ask the question. He’d gained his closure from leaving when he joined the army, despite the forces having its own issues. He knew he couldn’t go back, there was no point in dwelling on the past so all he could do was go forward and not think about what could have been. Yet, as soon as somebody asked the question, the answer to it was not as simple as he liked to think.

Could he have really seen himself staying, for any reason? All the scenarios he could think of were that of Panam leaving in his stead, and if she left then it was only a small-time before he did too. He’d spent ten years away from that camp, and it was too different for him to re-align with the people that resided in it. It was nice seeing Mitch and Teddy, but Saul was adamant that he had to leave.

“I don’t know. Spent too much time away from it that it would feel wrong to just go back.”

Panam folded her arms, the hesitant smile fading from her lips. “It’s a yes or no question, V. It’s not hard to answer.”

_“Since when was life ever a yes or no question. Life isn’t that simple; it never has been and to think it ever could be is just plain stupid. That or your girl is just so goddamn ignorant about what Night City is that she’s just ignoring everything that goes on about this place. This place, it’s all or nothing. You can’t just leave, you gotta go all in here, otherwise, it’s all over in an instant. You know that V. So do I.”_

V pushed himself up from the trunk, not going near Panam as he swivelled to the driver-side door. As soon as he had opened it, his attempt to get in the car and drive away at speed was quickly floundered. Panam had placed herself between his hand and the door, forcing it open with her body so he couldn’t escape.

“V, what happened to you?” She asked, her eyes peering into him as he looked at the steering wheel. “V, please, you can’t just be like this with me. I want to help you; we can still be friends even if you’re not part of the clan!”

“Long story, not enough time to tell it. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” V stated carelessly, reaching for the door before Panam pushed his hand away. “Panam, stop. I can’t be a friend to you.”

“Why not, V? I want to help, but you won’t let me so, how can I?”

V grunted. “Because there is so much shit I have to deal with between finding my fixer, finding my client, and now you and the Aldecaldos are just camped outside the city? Besides, what do you gain from helping me?”

“At this point? Nothing, because you won’t let me!” Panam argued. “You actually need to talk to me about this stuff, V. I’m not gonna drag you back to the clan kicking and screaming, if anything it would be the other way around. That doesn’t mean I can’t help you anyway, you were my best friend in the clan when we were kids. Goddamnit, you saved my life from scavvers. You still are my friend.”

“I’m not the same person that got shot for you, Panam. That ain’t me.” The solo muttered, somewhat hopelessly. “Too much has changed. Besides, you’d just be throwing your time with a sad case like me. Ain’t worth it.”

Panam had enough as soon as he said that. There was one thing he was right about, and that was the fact that he was different, this wasn’t the same V that got shot for her and she knew that. She’d heard it so much it felt like it was the only thing she’d been hearing for all of her life, he pitied himself and she couldn’t stand it. She needed to get up and do something, be proactive with him because this V was somebody that just didn’t want the help. He couldn’t accept the fact that she wanted to help him out of the goodness of her heart, and not because she wanted something. She wasn’t planning on bringing him back to the Aldecaldos, he’d made that much clear to her that there wasn’t anything left for him there. Saul would agree, but Panam wouldn’t agree that there was nothing left of the old V.

She’d grabbed him by the straps of his vest, forcing him from his shiny leather seat and out of the car. Her truck was large enough to put them in a confined space, forcing the much taller soldier to look down at the female nomad as she pushed him against the side of the car. He tried to push back, but Panam was much too aggressive and pushed him back again. Her hand was pressed against his chest, forcing him against the steel lining of the Outlaw’s roof.

“Stop it. Stop it with this ‘woe is me’ cyborg bullshit.” Panam growled, refusing to try and hit him. “All you do is say this shit like it’s all that matters. This isn’t you talking, this is your fucking default when somebody finally has had enough, of you being something they know you’re not and you don’t like it. Guess what, you need somebody to kick your ass when you’re down so you know you can get up. You don’t want me to help you, fine. But you know what you need to do?”

“Go on then, tell me what I need to do then to get whatever is wrong with me off my chest.”

“You need to take some deep breaths and then re-think every single thing you’ve been doing since you started being like this. I mean re-think all of this, really hard! When you do that, you can call me back when you’ve actually decided to stop acting like a little bitch. You know why you can call me back because I am here. I am here, in this city right now, working for my people. You are my people, whatever they say. Saul can call you Raffen Shiv, the camp can banish you, I don’t give a shit. You are my people, so I am here for you.”

Panam didn’t hit him or press him against the car. She turned around and pulled herself in the flatbed of her truck, picking something up before she threw it at V. Catching it in his hands, the heft of it signified that it was another weapon. A precision rifle to be exact, not like her own heavy GRAD but lighter. It was angular, much smaller and with two barrels and a nice scope, it felt right in his hands. The slight tinge of matte black and blue was on the barrel, a custom job. An M-179 Achilles rifle, something similar to what he’d been trained to use when he was in Cypher-9 for missions that required a more accurate touch.

“Nash’s rifle. I don’t need it.” Panam stated from above. “V, I don’t want to say it again, but you are my friend. Friends help each other, even if sometimes they don’t want it. You don’t want it, sure, but you really need it.”

_“Damn, this chick is ride or die. V, don’t give this one up.”_

V slung the rifle over his shoulder. “Panam, I’m…”

“What, V?” Panam recoiled, almost angry at the fact that she had to make the entire diatribe in the first place.

“I’m sorry.”

Panam had softened at the response, her shoulders slackening as she saw V take a few deep breaths as she had asked just mere moments ago. She jumped from the bed of the truck, moving over to V as he closed the door to his car so it didn’t scratch against her truck. V had moved slowly out from the space between the two vehicles, and Panam had opened her arms up to him. It seemed silly, in hindsight considering how tall V had become. Like he’d heard, not that he didn’t know, something akin to forty per cent of him was synthetic muscle, tissue and metal. His legs were a part of it, he stood at a healthy five-eleven before, now he was somewhere around the area of six-four. Panam however, still had a significant height difference.

He’d hugged her, tightly as if he hadn’t felt her genuine caring presence in the span of the ten years in which he truly had not. She felt warm, whereas in return he felt much colder. Then again, his silver hand had fallen over her hip just over the scars that she got used to baring. It had a small tinge of the cold to it, something most certainly not human which he didn’t hide in comparison to his other arm. The synthetic RealSkin on his left arm was clearly not real, there were tell-tale signs around the shoulder where it met his actual chest and torso. To Panam, perhaps to some extent, he was coming more open with his nature of being mostly parts.

Not that it mattered to her in the slightest.

He’d soon faltered, letting her go before he’d placed the rifle in his car. She’d turned to see him do so, looking inside the trunk to see how much weaponry and gear was in the back. She was wide-eyed at the sight. “What are you trying to do, take on Arasaka?”

“Something like that can never be too careful,” V muttered with a smirk. “Been doing heavy work, too much for a solo so it’s best to make up for it with firepower. Used to have a partner, but…”

V’s voice tapered off before Panam slapped him across the back. “Hey, you wanna get something to eat, find somewhere private to chat? No disrespect, but I’d rather not have all the kids trying to get into Afterlife hear the life story. You know what they say about, well, people like us.”

“Yeah, I get it. I know a spot up in Charter Hill that’s real quiet, we can talk there.”  
 **-  
 _Charter Hill, Westbrook District_  
Night City, California  
­-  
**A quiet trip to Billy’s Deli had done much to assuage the hunger from V and Panam’s stomachs. The drive from Afterlife all the way to Charter Hill had been painful, at least for Panam’s truck. V’s car was ideal for slipping through dirty alleys within seconds, but the Warhorse was a beast meant for desert plains and long-distance drives. Panam had learnt that taking a bike would be a much wiser move from now on.

They sat at the edge of a small cliff that overlooked the main city centre, as well as the many Megabuildings and skyscrapers that dominated the skyline. The traffic for the AVs appeared to be just as bad as the ground traffic, clogged with various mavericks flying through whatever open space they could find. V was just waiting for fireworks to happen when one or two of them collided. That way, at least Trauma Team would be having a field day with reviving people from the brink of an explosive death or sewing them together with cyberware before getting a premium fee.

They’d sat on the roof of Panam’s truck, parked to the left was V’s own car. Panam had gone with V’s recommendation of a ham, turkey and chicken sandwich whilst V had already finished off his own that consisted of meatballs and olives. The heavy aerial freighters brought in tonnes of cargo, probably the stock for the next business day. The two nomads were quiet, watching the night fly past as they usually did.

“You were gonna tell me about Jackie?” Panam had reminded, with V nodding as Panam continued eating.

“Right,” V grunted, throwing his wrapper off the edge of the cliff. “He was, probably the only decent person I used to know in Night City. Ex-Valentino gangoons, real big guy, looked like a bit of a gonk but he was always real with it. Saved my life when I was homeless, took me in to live with his mama. Put clothes on my back, gave me a gun and some money and helped me out a ton.”

“Realest choomba in Night City, huh?” Panam said, bits of sandwich still in her mouth. V laughed, nodding along as she continued eating. In some ways, Panam hadn’t changed all that much.

“Pretty much. Saved my ass a million times over, and same with me for him. Then I got work with Militech and we had our mutual disagreement on that front but it was preem for a long time. He’d do some work for me when I needed something done on a blank cheque without links. Then eventually I got my ass handed to me by some asshole higher-up, and he took me in again for a month while I got my shit back together. Then I lost him?”

Panam had soon finished her sandwich, following V’s action as she brushed herself off and threw the wrapper away. “What happened?”

“We did a fuckin’ stupid job, too big for our boots. The client wanted us to klep this experimental Relic chip, had to steal it from some snazzy hotel. We got in, grabbed the chip and got caught up, in a lot of shit. You ever heard of Adam Smasher?”

“Seen pictures, that's enough for a lifetime,” Panam replied. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“We tried to escape, and we thought we had done. I was climbing down this pipe, and I told him to jump so I could catch him when I had some real augs. He jumps, and then, almost out of fuckin’ nowhere…”

V struggled to vocalise it, and he remembered that the event had only happened a mere week and a half ago. The grief was there, even if he had made his peace with losing Jackie. The burning rage, the need to do something so Jackie wouldn’t have been taken away from everyone in vain. V would do it, he’d get Adam Smasher, one day. If not today or tomorrow, he’d get the bastard.

“V?”

“…Smasher rips through the security window. Fucker, he, the borged-out psycho-fuck gutted Jackie right in front of me. He knew we were there, probably knew the whole time. Throws his body away like it’s nothing and he fires like four rockets at me. Takes my arm off, but I got the chip. So, I’m thinking I can still escape, and I do, but another guard slices my eye out, the real thing.”

“…Shit.”

V grunted, he’d done his grieving, he’d swallowed his burning rage and was quiet again. The idea of doing the same to Smasher was almost enjoyable, even if he knew it would never bring Jackie back. He kept the key on his person, and his guns were still strapped to his hips as a reminder that he still carried on with him alongside him, as Mama Welles had used to say, he was with him in spirit. He just wished that Jackie could be with him in person instead.

“Yep, basically. Got his body back and he’s been buried, but since then I’ve been going in hard whenever I can. Tyger Claws mostly but zeroed a real piece of shit for the Mox a few days back. Flatlined the Militech guys that shafted me, but other than that, ain’t much to say. What about you?”

Panam was almost hesitant to say much, just like V himself. She’d said that she had never really forgiven Saul for exiling V, but there wasn’t much she could to get him back in before or after his actions at the camp. Her mom had died not three years before McCall had died, so for a while, there wasn’t much that changed other than people dying or just getting older. The clan moved around, got bigger, got smaller and just generally changed with the times. Apparently, the Snake Nation had taken in the Bakkers, which was to be expected with how poor they Bakkers were considering they had barely any scratch to their names. Saul got more dictatorial as time went by, was more focused on surviving than thriving which apparently pissed Panam off to no end.

“Sorry, about your mom. That’s tough.” V had muttered.

“Eh, it’s done. Back then, I was a real fucking mess. Crying every day, thinking how I wasn’t gonna ever get over it.” Panam mentioned. “Life is shit.”

“Ain’t it just.”

Panam nodded, leaning over the roof as she grabbed two cans of Amstel from her truck bed. Cracking one open, she’d tossed one to V as he followed suit. Clinking them together, V and Panam had slurped loudly over the quietness of the little natural spot they had taken. In the silence, V pondered on what else to say to her. He’d been honest with her, his experience in the military, Jackie, the job.

What else was there to tell?

_“Other than the fact that you are laying down some pretty heavy pipe with some corpo cumrag, and you got a dead rockerboy stuck in your head. Nobody said anything about omitting certain things.”_

V had chugged the can in record time, with Panam watching with a quirked eyebrow as she followed his lead. Looking at his silver arm, V had watched as his silver fingers danced up and down. Silverhand had a silver hand, now so did he. Slowly, he was beginning to see that him and rockerboy he’d initially called a terrorist had much more in common than V liked to admit to himself.

“I missed you, V.” Panam said, turning to look at the solo she’d finally recognised. Not the cyber-soldier, but the Raffen Shiv ex-nomad. She wished he’d look at her, to hold his gaze on her as easily as she could with him.

“I- shit. Hold on.”

V activated his holo, with a panicked Judy on the line. “Judy did you…”

“V, I found her! It’s Evelyn, I need you to meet me at the warehouses just outside of Pacifica!” Judy had stammered, lights flickering behind her. “She’s still alive, she has to be. They were fucking scavvers, V, Fingers let her get taken by fucking scavvers that fucking piece of shit!”

“Okay, okay, we’ll be there ASAP. Don’t go in until we get there.”

“Can’t promise that V. Just get here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a slow one but something I know a lot of you will appreciate in regards to Panam and V's relationship. I also leave you with a big push into the main story again! Don't say I'm not kind!  
> -Apollo


	20. Disasterpiece

**_10/09/2077  
Pacifica  
Night City, California  
V, Panam and Judy  
_-  
**V had jumped down from the roof of Panam’s truck, the nomad rushing around as V approached the trunk of his car. Throwing over a tactical shirt, heavy ballistic vest and attaching more holsters and magazines, as he’d thrown one vest to Panam.

“V, what the hell is going on?” she’d asked, taking off her jacket as she strapped the vest on. He’d already handed her a small Saratoga submachine gun. “V, talk to me!”

He’d quickly prepped again, taking two Liberty pistols and sliding them onto his thigh holsters before he took two old Mustang Mark IIs and slipped them under his arms. In almost a second, he’d sized up Nash’s rifle, something the late Raffen used to name the Widowmaker. The precision rifle was soon strapped to his chest before he approached his car in his customised gear.

“V!”

“My client, the one that gave me the job. She’s been taken by scavvers, we need to go now.”

Panam rushed to him, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Wait, just, what the hell do you mean by she’s been taken by scavvers? That doesn’t happen.”

“You haven’t been in Night City for seven years, scavvers here will take anything, people included,” V grunted, activating his car’s auto-drive function as it raced off before he approached Panam’s truck. “It ain’t pretty, and where we’re going is probably some scavver nest. We need to go, or the only thing we’ll find is my client in multiple pieces.”

Panam was almost taken aback by the sudden change in attitude from her friend, the calm and friendly ex-nomad into the cold, calculated professional soldier. He’d pushed her immediately to her driving seat, sending her the coordinates for the warehouses from Judy’s holo-call. Panam’s truck had heaved itself back to life, the Warhorse tearing across the sandy tundra of Charter Hill and into the packed city streets before she’d managed to angle her way onto the freeway system that circled around the city, soon flying from the packed city centre all the way to desecrated old warehouses of Pacifica.

Just away from the warehouses, a small blue and yellow Archer sedan was parked down the road. The pink skull of the Mox was sprayed jaggedly on the hood of the car, and Panam had soon parked up right in front of it. The sedan had soon driven off on it’s own accord, with Panam noting that as soon as V exited the truck, he’d approached a young woman with green and pink hair, a small recording augment latched to the side of her head. She had already prepared for the raid in her own way, a Sidewinder rifle in her hands and a small protective vest over denim overalls, with tattoos, coating her pale skin.

Panam soon joined the two. “V, where we going?”

“Who’s this? V, I trusted that this was gonna just be me and you.”

“Judy, this is Panam, a friend from my clan days. You can trust her, she’s with me. Panam, this is Judy, a member of the Mox.” V stated quickly. “Panam’s right, where’s Evelyn?”

“Warehouse just past the truck. Lots of scavver fucks snooping around, like a distribution centre. We need to go now, the sooner the better.” Judy grunted, readying her rifle as she approached the main gate. “The BD, it was fucked but it had enough in there when I ripped through the code to find out where she was, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“Let’s just get her out and then we can worry about what else is gonna happen,” V grunted, readying his rifle as his finger hovered over the trigger.

“Damn straight, I’ll keep our backs covered.” Panam agreed, Judy thrusting herself to the front of the group as she shot the padlock off the gate.

Giving the broken gate a swift kick to the centre, Judy had already aimed the smart-rifle at the closest two scavvers. The withered skin, blood still fresh on the knuckles and up the wrists, ripped and torn clothing, as well as the almost-feral snarls on their faces, gave them away. Before they could even pull their guns out, bullets almost floated and curved through the air before they shot through flesh and dropped them to the floor.

V’s reactions were no different, and as V entered the courtyard loading dock behind the Mox techie, he’d immediately aimed around her left shoulder as she took care of the scavvers to the right. Panam had immediately switched to cover the right, and V set his sight on a scavver who’d almost leapt in the air to jump on them. One precise blast from the Widowmaker and the man dropped from the air, flopping into the concrete with a hard crash, two vertical holes burned through his chest. Almost immediately, Panam had fired in one long burst, ripping flesh away from three more goons who had appeared from the building to the left. Two flopped to the floor in puddles of blood, one of them flying backwards from his spot with a hole in his head.

The trio had moved quickly, Judy moving forward with a fury in her eyes as she entered the warehouse. Two scavvers had approached, flesh scarred and dirtied with some dry red, yellow and brown substances coating their bodies. They hadn’t stood a chance when the Mox had fired off six more rounds, three a piece that tore through both of the men’s lungs as they fell down, clutching for air. V ignored them, stepping over them as he followed Judy, with Panam firing off two bullets into the heads of the desperate and dying men.

“Don’t waste the bullets if you can,” V grunted, Judy, nodding as they approached a stairwell, with V placing a hand on Judy’s shoulder. “You’ll need them, just in case.”

“They were in pain,” Panam replied, checking her magazine as she spoke. “Besides, what if they got back up?”

“With three bullets in their chests? Doubtful.” Judy growled, leading the pack downstairs. “The scavvers in En-Cee? They’re fuckin’ monsters, Panam. They’ll take you apart the first chance they get, and if you ain’t got any chrome or you haven’t chipped in? Well, that’s even worse. You wanna keep alive, don’t waste the ammo in putting these fucks down if they're whining. Aim high.”

Panam reconciled with the thought of being ripped apart for her neural link network. “Roger that, then, I guess.”

V had taken his own magazine from his precision rifle, counting three more charges in the magazine before he slid it back into his rifle. Panam had checked herself, with only ten bullets left, she’d readied another magazine for a quick reload before they reached another firefight. The trio had recced the staircase slowly, following V’s instructions from his old soldiering days on clearing the way forward before they finally reached the warehouse basement.

“Probably ain’t gonna be pretty,” V muttered as the trio approached the large set of steel double doors. “Judy, you see much in that BD we got from Fingers?”

Judy nodded as she took the left side of the door, with Panam at her back. “Enough for me to want to bleach my brain afterwards. Snuff BDs, ain’t fun to rifle through multiple times to refine everything to figure out she was here.”

“How’d you even figure out she was here?” Panam asked as V kicked through the first door, clearing the room with Judy and Panam right behind her. Nobody was inside. “How’d you even get that from a braindance?”

“I edit braindances for a living, you get a feel for things eventually. The coffee and pizza in one of the rooms were from the Buck-a-Slice down the street before you enter the industrial park.” Judy grunted, soon looking at a set of computers which she went too almost immediately. “After that, it’s just logic. You can’t run shit like snuff in the main city centre, too risky. You go further out, places like Santo Domingo and Pacifica with empty lots. Then cut down certain assets like factory fans and heavy-duty machinery, and here we are.”

Judy had stowed her rifle to her side, almost cutting through the Black Ice security systems of the computer before she had finally managed to get administrator access to the entirety of the hideout. A layout of the entire warehouse was present, messages between scavvers that notified them of certain girls that had been taken. Some of them, Judy recognised that went missing something like months ago. Most girls were fresh from the streets, names that she couldn’t recognise or faces that she’d never seen wandering around Watson near Lizzie’s or with Moxes around them.

Then again, Fingers resided on Jig-Jig Street, and for Clouds, having a defective joy-doll was something that got sorted out quickly. Either they’d get fixed and get back to work, or they wouldn’t be fixed and then the Tyger Claws would take the loss and get a new girl. Maybe they’d clean her up, make her look presentable before they sent her off to fuck scumbags for a living. It was no different to what some girls did with the Moxes, but at least they had the common decency to protect them from assholes.

Then there was V, somebody who’d taken enough contracts from people like the Padre, Okada and occasionally Suzie who’d send him and his comrades to search an area where a girl had gone missing. Either they were gone for good, taken by the Claws for moving without Mox protection or taken by scavvers.

“Been in too many places like this,” V muttered under his breath, Panam at his side as they scanned through some decrypted emails. “come out of here too many times with pieces of people instead of actual people. Fuckin’ scavvers, I’d rather take a bullet than let them rip me apart.”

“Wouldn’t we all.”

V had already managed to make a copy of the information, readying it for Suzie Q based on the number of girls that she recognised on the scavver manifest. Belladonna, Gina, Rosalina, more names that she hoped to forget as soon as she got out of that warehouse and handed the data shard to the boss-lady. V had taken the lead as they left the computer room, a cacophony of voices echoing throughout the facility. Gravelly, dry, howling voices that screeched and reverberated against the concrete walls and metal pipes that travelled throughout the complex’s thickened walls. A small compact hallway had been their next destination, pipes running to their right as two screaming scavvers rushed them with rusted metal scraps, tips sharpened into makeshift blades for them.

V had already taken aim, heavy thuds reverbing amidst spaces between shots. Once again, the two flesh-rats had dropped to the floor with burning holes in their chests. V pushed forward through the hall, with Judy and Panam stepping over the bodies before they’d reached the door to the next section of the warehouse basement. Panam retched as the smell wafted through the air, V and Judy pushing through the copper tinge of blood in the air, mixing with the general ruins of food wastage scattered around. Even so, the heavy aromas of faeces and urine were set in that room, forcing Panam to take deep breaths through her mouth as she tried to get used to the air.

Panam wondered how V could have ever walked through one place like this, let alone multiple nests of people that quite literally would rip people apart for their cyberware.

A large group of scavvers had entered just around the same time, some of them armed with firearms as well as others armed with makeshift weapons. Metal scraps, bats, knives, light gunfire slapping across the room as the trio moved back into the pipe hallway. Bursts of gunfire from Judy and Panam gave the trio the breathing space to move back, with V firing off one more shot at a gunman. The heavy revolver shots pierced the roof as he fell to the floor.

Screams, roars of rage and anger, laughter and deviant cries of pent-up frustration resounding across the concrete. Judy had blindly fired into the crowd as they sprinted to the doorway, one scavver avoiding the gunfire. His dagger was raised over Judy’s head before Panam had unleashed a curt burst of fire, ripping through the spine of the scavver as he dropped to the floor. Almost immediately, Panam had swivelled around V’s shoulder and pressed forward. Judy followed suit, issuing some covering fire as Panam flipped a table over, ceramic shattering on the floor for more protection amidst the gunfire from across the cold, foul-smelling room.

V remained in the hallway, the two females behind the table as heavy automatic fire ripped through the area. Figuring out the mechanisms of the rifle, V had soon managed to reload the precision rifle. In the small gap of silence, V had moved out of his cover as he fired two bolts of heavy rifle fire, eliminating one rifleman as he pushed forward past the table. Moving down past the small set of steps into the rest of the room, he was waylaid by a manic scavver that charged right into his side from his left. Gunfire continued echoing through the room, with Panam and Judy firing back as vigorously against the overwhelming swarm of scavenging rats as V threw a combination of elbows and fists to get the scavver from off the top of him.

His rifle had been thrown away in the scuffle, and the scavver that was threatening to bash his skull in with whatever he could find had stopped him from reaching for another gun in the meanwhile. In every attempt to get up, he’d be tackled back down to the ground. The first and second attempts, he’d barely managed to dodge the manic fighter’s chromed-out elbows ready to crack his skull like an egg. The third time, he’d grabbed a piece of concrete and tried to splatter his head once more. In between strikes, V had thrown hard left and right hooks to the man’s chest, and with one powerful straight jab, had pushed him off to the point where V could finally get up.

“Meat! MEAT!” The scavver screamed, making another decision to thunder towards V. “More shiny, more chrome!”

Before he could tackle him, V had already equipped his sole mono-filament wire. Ultra-heated, V flicked the wire across the floor, angled so as to run right across the man’s legs and right into V’s arms. The fiery filament sliced through the muscle, cartilage and dense bone as the scavver’s feet were detached from his body. Catching the man and hauling him up, V had snapped his neck with a sickening amount of pleasure, taking one of Jackie’s pistols from his hip and forging ahead.

The scavvers were pushed back, with V pushed forward as Judy and Panam closed up space and followed. Pushed into the next hallway, Panam and Judy zeroed the three gunmen as they tried to retreat, with V throwing away the crippled scavver before he fired another bullet in his human meat-shield. Judy remained in the hallway, ready to keep moving forward as V retrieved his rifle. Four bullets left in his pistol magazine, three more rounds in the rifle magazine as well, he’d kept count. The smell of death was amplified, the lower section of the room was decorated in puddles of blood, piles of gore and tech that couldn’t be salvaged.

Even bodies that had been totally scavenged of tech and cyberware were there, left to rot in a scavver hell-hole. V pushed Panam, knowing she’d seen the source of the deathly smells in the room, gunpowder now fresh in the air. Pushing through the hallways, Judy had pushed to the front with V at the rear. The scavvers had gotten more desperate, a light tone of terrified screaming hiding amidst the ringing shouts and bellows from the scavvers that headed to the nearest point to gain their quick death.

The trio had forged through the hallways, finding more gore nests and strung-up bodies that were sliced open, cyberware ripped out to be sold or repaired for themselves. The smells had gotten worse, more computers that contained foul videos that were in the process of being edited into a snuff brain-dance. The death’s head was the background on the computer, the sign of pure, unfiltered pain and suffering. Gunfire had soon begun to reverberate in his eardrums, close-quarter combat becoming more and more often as V began to use the butt of his gun as a blunted baton to bash those who got too close to him.

The screaming and horrified shouting had become louder and louder, as the rage-filled roaring of the scavvers had died their deaths. Moving through cell-blocks, empty yet still showing signs of those who had been forced to live in them prior. The screams were soon found to be originating from the final room, the screaming reaching its apex as the trio entered. Evelyn was strapped into an elevated surgical chair, a large precision pressure gun aimed directly at the centre of the former joy-doll’s forehead. The trio rushed through the section of the room guarded by a stone wall, aiming their SMGs at the man ready at the controls.

“Step away from the controls, _pendejo!”_ Judy had shouted, stepping forward slowly as she aimed at his centre of mass. “I said step away, you fucked-up piece of shit! Get away, now!”

“I’d listen to the Mox, scavver,” V said, grabbing the neck of Panam’s jacket before he whispered. “Cover your ear, pretend to talk to a fixer.”

Panam listened almost immediately, holding her gun in one hand as she covered her ear with the other. She felt the heavy weight of the Widowmaker resting on her shoulder. “Rogue, we’ve got her. She’s alive.”

Judy had turned upon hearing the name of Rogue, giving the man at the controls enough time to turn to his controls. His own hand pressing down on Panam’s, V exhaled a breath as the precision rifle fired twice. The recoil jolted against Panam’s vest, finally being absorbed by V’s arm as the man fell lifelessly away from the controls, with two holes in his head where his face used to be. Judy had already stowed the rifle at her side, placing her hands against Evelyn’s bruised body, wondering where to start first. Her hands pressed against the arteries in her neck, feeling her light pulse still present.

V had slung the rifle on his back, Panam still somewhat rocked by the power of the rifle. Her eardrum thudded, rocked by the rifle fire and contained, close-quarters gunfire from the gunfight. The room smelt of death, not blood or gore but just death itself. Assisting Judy, V had slowly extracted Evelyn from the chair and held her tight in his grasp. Heavier than she looked, but more due to the stress and fatigue that most likely made her feel tired, hence the extra heft required to keep her from falling from his hold. Judy had fired the rest of her magazine into the controls, controlling the machine before emptying what was left into the man’s still-warm carcass.

“Time to go, Judy,” V grunted. “Before scavvers realise it’s only three of us.”

“My place, I’ll drive.” Judy replied, curtly as she led the trio out of the haunting remains of the warehouse.  
**-  
Judy’s Apartment, Kabuki Sub-District  
Night City, California  
-  
**_“Please, just one, for me?”_

_“Fine, have it your way. Smoke to your lungs content.”_

V had lit a smoke as quick as he could reload a pistol, in record time he’d taken an inhalation of smoke larger than he was prepared for. Johnny had remained in his head, quiet as he raided the old industrial centre for Evelyn. That was V in his zen, focused and committed to doing the task at hand, and the long-dead rockerboy had realised that perhaps he’d lucked out with getting such an effective body-double.

The solo coughed, hard, wracking his lungs to get rid of the smoke from his poorly-done attempt at smoking. He wasn’t a virgin to the sensation; he’d bum a cigarette off anyone if he needed to back in Militech. He’d just underestimated how much of the sensation Johnny was used to, without V being Johnny’s real body. The holographic depiction of the rockerboy-turned-terrorist laughed at his misfortune, the mercenary spitting the taste from his mouth.

_“Ha, pussy.”_

_“Shut the fuck up, Johnny. You got what you wanted.”_

_“Whatever you say, kid. Least it was something better than the smell of blood, shit and exhaust fumes from this fucking place. You feel it too, don’t you, V? That stench? It clings to you.”_

It was true, in some respects how certain aspects of the city seemed to never let go of people that tried to escape. The place was tightly packed, it was almost claustrophobic in some places. Even if the sky was always visible, the skyscrapers and Megabuildings tried to take that privilege away from the people who lived in the city. Kabuki was one of the lucky places, as only a scarce number of buildings veered above four floors due to the freeway that hovered right above the entire sub-district.

The rain was thundering heavily when they had managed to escape the Pacifica. The scavvers had been caught off-guard, enough for them to be too busy trying to comprehend what had been done to their snuff operation as well as where their best girl had been taken to. They were already in The Glen and then Kabuki, parked up as V carried Evelyn up to Judy’s apartment with Panam guarding the two as they got out from the rain. Turning around, V had been confronted by a somewhat-distraught look of Panam. Her jacket remained in the apartment; her tactical vest covered her bodysuit as she joined V on the stairs leading to the apartments.

“How you feeling?” V managed to ask, flicking away the cigarette as Panam stood next to him. “Sorry, about having to drag you into that.”

Panam shook her head. “I’ve not seen shit that bad, in a long time. Hell, even the Raffens aren’t that bad. That was one nest? How the fuck do you even walk into places like that?”

“I don’t. I usually like to keep my insides on the insides instead of on the outside. Then again, sometimes we all get a little desperate for eddies. Been in a few before you showed up, saved some NightCorp lady a few weeks back, handed her off to Trauma Team. Smaller than that fuckin’ shit back there, but still, walking in and out ain’t ever pretty.”

Panam laughed dryly. “V McCall, the big goddamn hero of Night City. Saving damsels and helping dames, right out of a comic strip. Anyone ever told you that?”

“Nah. Been told to go fuck myself a few times though, quite literally as well,” V muttered, shoulders jumping up and down as he contained a small laugh. “Judy say she was good with Evelyn on her own?”

“We just finished treating her, but she isn’t talking.” The nomad admitted with a grimace upon her face. “They did a lot of shit to her, V. I don’t think she’ll ever be the same again. She had that look in her eye. No Relic chip, either.”

V pressed his palms into his eyes when he heard. “Fuck.”

“Hey, you saved her from something that could have been potentially a lot worse,” Panam reassured him, her hands pressing on his shoulders. “Screw the chip, it doesn’t mean anything. You saved somebody.”

“We saved somebody; it wasn’t just me. Besides, we still don’t know if she’ll make it through the night.”

Panam nodded towards the apartment door, the two nomads walking inside before they entered the complex and went to Judy’s room. The room itself was almost pristine, a nice kitchen with an expansive living room area with a nice corner couch. For a shitty little apartment in Kabuki, it was quite homey. Sea blue walls, robotic parts scattered around on the nearby desk, magazines on the glass coffee table with a couple of risqué images on the cover. He did have to give it to Judy, she did have some good taste. Panam had immediately gone to the kitchen area, taking three mugs before she began making coffee.

Judy had finally emerged from the spare bedroom, closing the door slightly without shutting it properly. In her hands remained a multitude of different things. Bleach, small amounts of rope, razor blades, putting them under her sink as she took a few deep breaths. Her submachine gun soon found itself locked up in it’s casing before placed under her robotics desk. The techie slumped on the couch, clearly tired as she groaned aloud.

“She gonna be okay?” V asked.

“The dirt and blood, made it look a lot worse than it was,” Judy stated, hands covering her face. Her comfy clothes rode up against her body, soft black cotton boy shorts with a large white vest that covered her torso but not the litany of tattoos that covered her body. “They did a lot of shit to her, heavy stuff. When Panam and me tried to clean her, if you touched her in places like her _co_ _ño_ then she’d just stop, like she’d go to fuckin’ stasis mode. Maybe catatonic.”

V grumbled, tensing his silver hand when he heard. “She’s been raped if I had to guess.”

“I’d have said the same, probably worse,” Judy admitted. “Panam, you ain’t squeamish?”

“After what I just saw in the warehouse, and after helping clean her up in there, don’t think I am anymore.” The nomad admitted, bringing two cups of coffee down as V went to fetch his own. “She was tortured, for sure. Some of those scars, they were deeper than others, twisted inside. Meant to cause pain.”

Judy growled, loud enough for both V and Panam to hear. “It would be for the snuff, amplify the pain and then amplify it some more for in the editing process to make it worse and then times it by two. If they raped her, the same thing there too. V, you should have killed Fingers, and Woodman and every single fucking Tyger Claw in Clouds.”

V looked down at the counter. “We wouldn’t have found Evelyn in time if I did, we’ll get them back, Judy. I promise, when the time is right, we’ll turn it on them. It’s just not the right time now.”

“I understand.”

_V flickered through some memories, Johnny wandering beside them as Panam and Judy conversed in light whispers about Evelyn’s injuries. Memories of cleaning out scavver dens, whether he was with Militech Cypher-9 or with Jackie, the results were always the same. They’d either manage to rescue somebody from the clutches of death itself, and leave them with trauma for the rest of their life, or they’d find a savaged body stripped of everything it was worth. Dingy basements, demolished apartments smashed through for more space, to make more room for more bodies. Smells of blood, shit, puke, urine, rotting flesh and gunpowder. Sounds of desperate screams and horrified screeches caused by the most pain that it was almost inhuman._

V shook himself out of the fading memories; the less he remembered of such operations the better. Those were the jobs that made him vaguely feel like one of the good guys, cleaning up the streets and saving innocents from brutish degenerates. Then it was back to counterintelligence, threatening innocent people and executing leakers for the most minor of mistakes that threatened the company.

“Somebody is gonna need to watch her,” V stated, garnering the looks from Judy and Panam. “Half of the people that I got out of the nests were traumatised for a very long time, some never got past that.”

Judy nodded. “She can stay with me, and we’ve got the Mox to look out for her if I can’t be here. I can work from home; I’ll tell Suzie about it.”

V sipped from the coffee mug slowly, the strong black coffee burning against his lips as he did so. Panam was going through the anger phase of realising how shitty Night City was, and whilst she was just older than him by a few days, she hadn’t lived in the city for longer than him, she hadn’t seen the real scum of the city, the guys on the ground or the guys in the offices, they were just as bad as each other.

“I’ve got something, for the catatonia, and if she starts seeing shit.”

“V, you don’t have to…”

V shook his head. “I don’t need them, and if it gets Evelyn back to where she was, it’s better for her than for me. At least with her, they’ll be going to good use. Olanzapine and Digoxin.”

“Thanks, V. You guys, your good to hit the couch if you want tonight.”

The nomads smiled. “Thanks, Judy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have regained Evelyn, which is another step in the right direction. Dex is now our primary focus, but I might do a little subchapter before that between V and Panam before that. Be nice to have something soft and wumpy. I'm not really proud of this chapter, can't tell why though. Hopefully, you guys enjoy it though.  
> -Apollo


	21. Following the River

**_11/09/2077  
Kabuki Subdistrict  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The apartment was quiet, at least it had been since Judy had finally taken the opportunity to keep checking on Evelyn and eventually settled on sleeping in the same room as the traumatised joy-doll. Panam had fallen asleep some time ago, lightly snoozing on the couch, her weapons and tac-vest lying on the coffee table. V had offered the lower half of himself as the pillow, mainly due to the fact that according to Panam, Judy’s pillows were not exactly comfortable on her neck.

Henceforth, V had spent at least three hours where he could have been sleeping, being a cushion for his childhood friend. He did admit at one point that it wasn’t all that bad, he didn’t mind Panam’s habits of sleeping wherever she could find comfort, even if he was the only available option.

His issue was the fact that she was such a heavy sleeper, she’d pretty much deadened the sensation in his leg to the point where he couldn’t feel the bloody thing.

The shard he’d taken from Rogue as payment was sat in his pocket, which he’d soon retrieved and placed into the neuro-slot behind his ear. The red HUD shone brightly in his vision, as the shard transferred the data directly to his memory storage unit. Taking the empty shard, he’d gently slid it onto the table, struggling to not wake Panam up from her sleep as he leant over her. As soon as he could lean back against the couch, he’d decided to take a look at the info provided.

He knew Evelyn would at least take a long time to talk, especially considering what scavvers could do to people when given the time. Miss Dorsett (a woman he’d rescued with Jackie mere weeks ago) had been taken by Trauma Team, placed into some kind of psychotherapy if what Okada had told him was true when he went to retrieve their rewards. Scavvers looked as if they’d done a number on her, the black and purple bruising around her face, neck and chest, dried and flaky substances coating her arms and legs, scars and cuts that exposed the fat layers under the skin.

She was a far cry from the mysterious, blue-haired joy-doll that wore fine leathers and furs and offered him the payday of a lifetime. Beaten, downtrodden, used as something less than human.

The thoughts of Evelyn’s torture and abuse was filtered, the information from the shard being pulled up. A regular, auto-tuned female voice read through a brief synopsis of the files. Dex’s physical information, personality traits were taken from Rogue’s CASIE augmentation, as well as the information Rogue, had gathered upon Dex’s retreat since the Konpeki Plaza Heist. For somebody who was meant to be on top of the game once upon a time, he’d managed to make many amateur mistakes in his escape. He’d left a paper trail in the rush, banking statements that revealed him taking every single eddie in his account, buying five different tickets to different places in America, each of which were traced down not just by Rogue, but by other net-runners looking for a former fixer.

An ex-cop had been placed in charge of looking for him, a newly minted private detective from the Danger Girl Security Company. River Ward; highly decorated and extremely effective as his file stated. He’d been given a promotion based on his work on saving Mayor Rhyne from a cyberpsycho, not that it mattered much considering the mayor died from a heart complication anyway.

His contract with Danger Girl, was to look for the missing fixer and retrieve him, as soon as possible. How Rogue managed to get those private documents, V was baffled considering how inter-linked the company was with Militech’s ex-president Rosalind Myers before she went into government. Danger Girl remained under Militech’s umbrella, but just far enough away to not be Militech.

“Wonderful…” V muttered under his breath, causing Panam to mumble and moan in her sleep as she turned over in his lap. He whispered to her as she slept. “Sorry, Panam. Gotta go.”

She’d taken off her jacket before she went to sleep. V had soon forged a plan of action to get back out in the field, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting for something to happen to Dex or the private detective, he needed to get back on the offensive. The offence was the best sort of defence, the more he would strike out against Arasaka, the less chance they had of ever finding him as they recovered from his last attack before he attacked again.

He’d taken her jacket from the top of the couch, folding it over once and then once again. He placed one hand under her neck, gently keeping it raised where his lap was as he managed to extricate himself from Panam’s sleeping form. Sliding the jacket where he was once sat, he lowered her head gently against the jacket. She began slowly babbling unintelligibly in her sleep as V finally extracted his hand from under her head.

For somebody he used to feel so close to in his youth, who he yearned to see again when he left the clan, he felt no issue in leaving her alone now. Retrieving her Warhorse, killing Nash and retrieving Evelyn was nice. It helped to work in a team unit, it provided him with a familiar comfort of when he was in the Cypher unit. The only difference was that they would never be as able or tactically adept as his private group of soldiers. Yet, when all of the action was settled, when Evelyn, Judy and Panam were asleep, he felt no other wishes than the wish to leave the apartment to continue his campaign against Arasaka.

He'd managed to slip out of the apartment in silence, walking to his car under the early morning sky. The sky was dark, clouds and pollution stopping him from observing the stars in the sky. Sitting in the car, he’d continued to delve through the data. A small facility in the Glen, the small sub-district inside the Heywood district. It was supposedly Valentino turf, but everyone knew that the Sixth Streeters were slowly edging into their territory, something that V knew Gus was actively dealing with.

He'd kept the car in a low gear, the notable engine screech mixed with the sound of burning rubber against the road would no doubt wake up the apartment complex. The hypercar hummed gently as V drove out from Kabuki, leaving his friends asleep in the apartment which he’d already lost sight of as he drove down the lightly packed streets of the sub-district. The drive would take some time, and he flicked through some more of the shard info before he came to the detective’s number.

He’d worked with PIs before, and most were more invested in their paycheque than the actual case itself. Considering that River was ex-NCPD, as well as under the Danger Girl company, he could at least have some leeway due to his prior job with Militech. He’d placed the number in his holo, and as he drifted gently down the roads, he’d already begun to call the number for River.

He’d answered almost immediately. A bald, middle-aged man with a cybernetic eye and gruff voice spoke directly. “Detective Ward, NCPD. Tell me who you are and how you got this number and I won’t have the closest precinct on your ass in five seconds flat.”

V smiled and proceeded to lie; the PI was still clinging to his police background. “Detective Ward, this is Agent V from Militech Counterintelligence Unit Cypher-Nine. I am calling to inquire on your current assignment from our compatriots at the Danger Girl offices.”

“Counterintel? Oh shit, uhm, sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t worry, Mr Ward, I understand the wariness.” V swallowed the urge to laugh, he’d played so many cops and PIs it was almost child’s play. “Your assignment, can I confirm that you are looking for a rather high-profile individual, goes by the name of Dexter DeShawn?”

“Yes, uh, sir.” River replied, almost immediately and curt-like. “Am I off the case?”

“No, as a matter of fact, your case has crossed my desk and I took a personal interest due to the possibility of DeShawn being of huge importance to a current task involving the Arasaka Corporation. I need to meet you in person, you have a small complex across from the suspected location of DeShawn, am I right?”

“Yeah, apartment four-oh-ten, Cortez Apartment block. Just knock three times and I’ll let you in.” River stated, falling into his casual mood before he perked up again. “Sir.”

“Excellent, be ready for my arrival. Thank you for your compliance, detective. And I’d advise you stop going by your former job. Never good for company policy. Goodbye.

V had ended the call promptly, laughing out loud as soon as he had done so. It was amazing, how being a corpo could change how people looked at him almost immediately. He remembered the many times where some punk kid on the street tried to rob him, desperation in his eyes. Walking the streets was one of the few ways V liked to cool himself when he had first got the Militech job, but when V had been walking around after a visit to Lizzie’s, he’d been confronted almost immediately.

A bloodied knife to his throat, threats of violence thrown at him in English and Spanish. The only thing that stopped him from killing him was how young he was, so the corporate agent that V was at that point in time only broke his nose and gave him a hairline fracture in the forearm. Now, the thought of such action made him sit back in his seat as he drove and consider what happened to him to turn him into such a manipulative and aggressive bastard. It had happened multiple times, different people and V had eventually settled with handing them a ten-eddie note and letting them run off.

If they didn’t like it, well, a broken hand and twenty eddies would be more than enough.

It was the trip through the city centre that allowed him to be introspective, and whilst Johnny was quiet inside his head, he definitely wasn’t on the outside. The car radio had been switched to a heavy metal station, Johnny’s old band Samurai were playing, a classic tune if he had to admit (to himself) as well as Johnny. _Chippin’ In_ ripped and roared through the airwaves, and V couldn’t resist at least humming along as Johnny slipped into reality, an old guitar in his hands as he plucked the strings to the tunes in time with the radio.  
**-  
Cortez Apartments, Heywood District  
Night City, California  
-  
**V had parked up in an alley two blocks down the road from the apartment complex. It was a dead-end, and without the presence of balconies lingering over him, it allowed him to take stock of his armaments. He’d stripped himself of his heavy gear, the weight of such equipment being lifted from his shoulders as he patted it down before he placed it back into the trunk of his car. He’d left one holster on his hip, sliding the Sovereign inside it. Taking his military jacket, he’d thrown it over his shoulder and locked the car down as he made his approach to the main building.

_“You know, for somebody who claims to be a genuine Nomad, you really got a knack for acting like a corpo-rat.”_

V shook his head. “Sometimes being a corpo comes with a lot of privileges, especially counter-intel and cybersecurity. You throw the right words around at the right time, or you wear the attitude, and doors open up for you.”

_Johnny nodded, almost understanding before he walked in front of V, turning to face him as he walked backwards. “Why not just kick the shit out of the pig anyway, probably get the job done and without the fuckin’ niceties. What’s the bet on him throwing you to Militech as soon as he gets what he wants?”_

“He’s a cop, Johnny.”

_“Was a cop, now he’s a PI. They’re fuckin’ worse. At least with a cop you know they are gonna drop you as soon as it helps them with their pension.”_

“He’s got a good record, the reason he got kicked off the force was that he was an honest cop. Maybe he still is.”

_“You got too much faith in him, V. Be careful because it ain’t just your ass on the line anymore.”_

“Yeah, yeah, two minds one body. Don’t gonk out.”

V had finally reached the block which contained the Cortez building, a small set of flats that had an alley to the left side of the entrance, leading to an estate surrounded by even more crappy brick mansions. Walking down the alley, he’d noted the expansive compound in between all the flats, a comfortable car repair shop that was guarded by a variety of black-clad mercenaries, some of them sporting an American flag bandana wrapped around their biceps. V had made his way to the apartment mentioned in the shard, being buzzed in when he pressed the button labelled as ‘four-oh-nine’, marching inside with large strides to his step.

The charge up the stairs didn’t take long, eventually getting to a jog until he reached the third floor. The place was a small apartment block, fifteen apartments separated five floors, compacted and squashed together to make as much space as possible. Reaching the detective’s room, he’d knocked a slow three times before a litany of locks could be heard, sliding open and clicking as they were unlocked. The door opened, and V was almost dragged inside before the door was once again locked up right behind him.

“Sorry, sir. I had to be careful, did anyone see you enter the building?”

V had pressed out the crinkle in his jacket. He’d noticed that Ward’s left hand had been replaced with an almost skeletal prosthesis, small and thin but effective as a bludgeon or with enough force, a sharp dagger. His left eye too, replaced with a black visor replacement that looked nothing like the real thing. “No apologies necessary, Detective Ward. Please, dispose of the pleasantries. V is my name, and that is all you need to know. Nobody noticed my entrance, not that they would if they tried.”

“Oh, I mean, okay V.” River affirmed, and V had already noticed that the ex-cop was larger than him by a good margin. At least six foot six if he had to make an estimate, the man cut an intimidating figure. “If I can ask, how did my case come across the counter-intel desks? I thought Danger wasn’t related to Militech?”

“It isn’t, Detective. Your case is on my desk because it is related to Arasaka and some high-up executives in that company. Dex DeShawn, what do you know?”

River nodded as the former counter-intel officer spoke. “Well, the small vehicle repair compound in the centre of the estate is guarded by what I assume to be Sixers. The only marks they’ve been wearing is the American flag, but unmarked vehicles have been spotted coming in and out every couple of days. Some Japanese guys really augmented out the ass. One of them looked like this middle-aged guy, long hair, sort of grey. The other, much younger, wearing some full-on battle armour, carries a sword around all the time. Look like nasty pieces of work, if you ask me.”

V approached the window, a small scope placed between the window blinds. “Sixers, and some Japanese guys. They marked as Tyger Claws, or nothing?”

“No, no marks at all. Nothing I could make out anyway. Closest I could assume was Kang Tao or Arasaka, based on the equipment they were carrying. But then again, why would they be here, working with Sixers?” River asked, answering his own question. “They wouldn’t because the Tyger Claws are Arasaka’s go-to guys when they want dirty work done.”

“Regardless, how’s this related to Dex?”

River handed V another mono-scope, the agent placing it to his eye. “A week ago, I managed to get a net-runner to start surfing the net. Obviously, any mentions of DeShawn would come up, so I found the records of DeShawn withdrawing all of his assets, preparing to get out of the city.”

“He bought out like five tickets to five different places in the New States. Arizona, Boston, Washington, Toledo and Baton Rouge. He didn’t appear for any of them, and the tickets were soon cancelled by administrators for each flight he was on. Simultaneously.” River added. “Eventually, one of Dex’s known associates was found dead in some alley one day, sliced up like some street sushi.”

V kept his eye on the compound, seeing large military trucks entering the complex. “One of his bodyguards?”

“Right. Large dude decked out in leather and shades, built like a fuckin’ truck.” River informed him. “I called in a favour at the morgue, and the mortician sent me this datafile. Basically, detailed how Dex was really scared about what happened, something about the terrorist attack at Konpeki Plaza.”

V had to laugh at that, garnering a weird look from River. “That’s what they’re calling it? Okay, was Dex fleeing from something related to Arasaka?”

River shrugged. “That’s what I would assume, but he’s small-fry. Has been since he came back after his little sabbatical. He’s not big enough for Arasaka to bother with, let alone hunt him down.”

“Don’t put it past them, Detective,” V grunted. “So, he went missing on the day he tried to leave the city and you saw some blacked-out cars come here. How’s that related to Dex?”

V took a moment to pull himself away from the scope and the blinds that overlooked the compound. The blinds in both windows had been closed, and with one person peeking through, the difference was basically unnoticeable from the compound. Cars littered the yard, some of them broken and beyond repair, more of them in the midst of being scrapped and taken apart. The shutter doors were closed, hiding whatever was inside from sight.

The ex-nomad looked at the detective, who was still peering through the window of the crappy apartment. His sense of style was, at least in V’s opinion, seriously outdated. There was no neo-weave or synthetic leather. It wasn’t even the godawful style that the street-kids would wear, and it was too grungy to be neo-kitsch. Bold blue jeans with cowboy boots, a vest underneath a heavy leather-fur trenchcoat. He wore an earring in his right ear, a small silver gem dangling from the ear. Over the vest, a necklace with three steel feathers. It reminded him of the cheap Nomad crap they’d make for each other, not worth shit in material value, but worth more than gold in sentimentality.

“The black cars are inside that shop, same plates and the same make. Cam footage I got from that net-runner placed those cars around the corner from Dex’s dead bodyguard, signs of a struggle. Shots fired, everything. I checked out the finances of the repair shop, the actual business and it’s worth shit-all. It’s a fucking front, it’s a Sixer place, yeah, they wouldn’t want shit wired direct. I got my runner to check the records, you know who owns the shop?”

“Sixers?”

“No.”

“Claws?”

“Nope, Ara-fuckin’-saka, named under a dummy owner. My runner died getting that information, his skull got burned down before he handed it off. Whoever is in there, Arasaka is hiding them off the grid so hard that they aren’t even going to the Claws to deal with their shit. I’ve been staking this place out now, for at least a week since I got the info.” River admitted, pulling away from the window.

V walked away, pacing in the middle of the low-quality apartment. The floors were uncarpeted, the wallpaper was peeling badly, there was a pipe that sounded like it was threatening to crack through the walls. It was a dingy place, one that V needed to get out of before he gave himself an airborne disease. He’d taken Sovereign, loading it with two slugs before he closed it up and slid it in the hip holster.

V turned to the PI. “Well done, Ward. That is some workaround to finding a missing fixer. Leave the rest of this to me.”

“Wait, what?” River almost exclaimed. “Are you going in there? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I highly doubt that. Sixers ain’t shit to me.” V grunted, approaching River. “This is your job; you’ve done your task. You can leave now.”

River faced off, standing over V with his hand hovering over his revolver. “No way. My task is to bring DeShawn into Danger Girl, get my money for my family and move on to the next contract. How do I know you’re gonna bring him out alive?”

V and River were almost approaching violence. “You would have to take a chance in that case. Why do you need him alive?”

“Big money, simple as. It’s good for my rep as a PI too, I know that you’re some big counter-intel guy that doesn’t care about some little guy like me. This doesn’t affect you as much as it does to me.”

V growled. “You wouldn’t have any idea of what this means for me, Detective Ward. Not one iota.”

How would he, when did River Ward ever try and rob Arasaka and get his friend killed and parts of him taken away? He hadn’t, he was a cop who seemed to optimistic and faithful in being a force for good in the city. River and V were too far away from each other to ever see the similarities. Hell, V was lying to the man’s face and River was just going with the act, believing the ‘counter-intel’ agent and giving him all the information.

“We can do this together; we don’t need to be at odds.” River offered, his hand falling away slowly before offering his hand out in partnership. “You want to go in there, fine. That’s your choice. You want DeShawn, so do I. Let’s do it together.”

V was on shaky ground, the idea of getting his hands on Dex and losing him soon after was vexing to him. “I want my information from Dex first, and then you can take him back. How’s that?”

“I don’t like it, I don’t know how you’re gonna get him out of that place but I guess it works for both of us. I’ll be ready for you when you need a getaway driver.” River stated. “My truck will be around the corner; I’ll keep it warmed up. Call me when you're ready to get out. I know a place that’s quiet for you to get what you need out of him.”

V gave a curt smile, shaking River’s hand. “I guess it will work out in the end. Be ready, it might get loud if this goes wrong.”

“Roger that, sir.”  
**-  
**V had approached the compound ten minutes after River had gone and moved his truck just outside the alley. The Sixers were in the middle of a guard change, so V had managed to sneak past the changing details, slipping past the broken concrete walls and chain-link fences and going down the outer left side of the compound. Walking past the back doors of the apartment complexes that leered over the compound, with no lights visible from the windows. Slinking across, he’d noticed a small chink in the link fence with no guards walking past. Checking nobody was behind him, he’d managed to slice through the section of the fence, throwing the chain links to the floor before he crawled through.

“River, I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we see a glimpse of River Ward in this chapter. I have changed elements of his character, him still being the heroic cop that saved the Mayor, but having been forced out nonetheless and being forced to join Danger Girl. I will gift a metaphorical cookie to those who know who runs the company he works for. We also see a little resurgence of Corpo V, using his privilege as a counter-intel guy to gain info from River. As for the next chapter, it will be featuring a character from the Cyberpunk 2020 game as well as somebody who's glossed over in the game too, and that will lead onto the rest of the arc for the series other than the Nomad arc. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it!  
> -Apollo


	22. Blood & Oil

**_11/09/2077  
Sixer Compound, Heywood District  
Night City, California  
_V  
-  
**It had taken very little time for V to actually sneak inside the compound, despite the large number of people that were actively guarding the place against any prying eyes.

Of course, it would be more of an issue getting Dex DeShawn out of his little prison. The easy part was getting inside the gangoons base, getting out with a hostage-slash-prisoner would require more stealth than V thought was capable of him.

After he’d crawled through the chain-link fence, he’d promptly scanned around the small alleyway beside the compound. Nobody had thankfully seen his entrance, and due to it being in the dead of night, no innocent soul from the apartments around and above had yet to see him. Then again, he doubted they’d purposefully look down at the compound unless they wanted to risk a social call from some Sixth Street Gangoons.

They were apparently American patriots, or at least they used to be. Turned out to be nothing but self-glorifying scum that sucked off any source of income they could find. They were gangoons that wore a slightly different colour and spoke a different dialect but they were just the same as everyone else.

People that preyed on the weak, and V had very little time for people that kind.

He’d taken his knife from his boot, a karambit that curved away from his hand. The silence was needed, and even if lost his knife, he had his body in every capacity as another weapon. The mere thought of getting caught and being able to let loose once again made him feel dangerous in every way. The operation itself made him feel like he had done when he had finally been put in charge of ground ops at Militech.

The team would sneak around, with himself at the head of the snake. He’d issue orders, watch as the people below him would confirm and see them done without an issue, not even an odd glance or hesitant word said if they disagreed. The mission had to be done, whether they agreed or disagreed with the purposes of such an objective that they may have objected to. If they didn’t do it, somebody else would.

That, and they’d be damned if they did it wrong anyway.

There was a heavy smell of engine oil and heavy smoke, welders sparking loudly as it melted and reforged metal plates back together and were slapped back onto the cars inside. Shouts and yells could be heard from the outside, amidst some of the old country music that he used to hear when he was with the Nomads. Music that had a lot of slang, hard accents and constant mention of pick-up trucks and guns. V had slid up against the wall of the garage, just under the windows so he wasn’t visible to those inside the actual shop. He had slinked across the wall, reaching the edge of the wall as he looked into the main courtyard of the shop.

Guards were scattered all over the yard, some of them surrounding fire barrels as they warmed themselves up as they stood in the cool night. They’d hold their hands toward the flames, chatting away in the meantime as others remained on guard by the entrance of the compound, some of them wandering the walls or the inner workings of the camp. The Sixers usually kept to themselves, remaining out in Arroyo where the majority of them resided. The fact that they were in Heywood, the Glen to be more specific, where a lot of the Valentinos would hide out when necessary was something new.

_“They were probably sanctioned with some Arasaka firepower that they actually managed to get a foothold here. No other explanation.” Johnny muttered across from V, stood with a cigarette hanging limply from his lips._

_V had been quiet, speaking internally to the rockerboy. “Still weird that they’d go for the Sixers instead of the Tyger Claws. Not that it matters, as long as the job is done.”_

_“Agreed. Look up, don’t ever say I don’t help out from time to time.”_

V listened to his digital assistant, spotting a small little swivelling box with a glowing red light orbiting a small area of space away from the ex-corpo mercenary. A camera, one inter-linked to all the others through the main system. Amidst rescuing Dex, it would probably have been worth some time slicing through that security with his jack-wire to see what juicy info the Sixers had if it was worth anything.

Sliding away from the yard in silence, he approached the side door. Before opening, he’d poked his head up. He’d sighted three guys by the door, they’d notice immediately if he even considered opening the door. Ignoring the door at that moment in time, he’d approached the back of the building, catching sight of a small vent that seemed to veer under the building itself like a small ventilation tunnel or drainage channel for car oil and melted materials. He’d managed to somewhat quietly rip the vent door off the hinges, sliding it to the side before he crawled inside.

It was rancid, the smell of oil and muddied water, melted metal and refuse had clogged up his olfactory nerves almost immediately. He’d slowly began to crawl through the vent, minding his step in his crouched position so he didn’t alert the Sixers inside the shop to his presence right under them by banging against the top of the metal sheets for the vent. He’d inevitably had to stick his metal in the sludge, in order to steady himself so he didn’t fall ass-backwards into the dirty materials that he was already trudging through. He’d already condemned his boots, most likely his jeans too, to the disposal units when he’d managed to get away from the compound.

He wanted to condemn himself to an hour-long shower, and the more he thought about such a fate, the more he wished it upon himself as he continued his long, drawn-out penance through the sluice tunnels. After what felt like an eternity, or something close to it, he’d found the exit to the tunnels. Grabbing the venting sheet, he’d pushed with enough force to rip it clean off the hinges like the previous one. Gently placing the metal to the side, he’d clambered desperately out of the vent, slinking off into the shadows as he began his silent exploration of the Sixer compound.

After he managed to get out of the main garage area, he’d found himself in a hallway, two doors leading off into some supply and tool rooms with various gang merchandise as well as car materials. Taking a look in one room, he’d closed the door behind him as soon as he witnessed what was inside.

Stacks upon stacks upon stacks, mountains of metal crates, black pearlescent paint with the Militech logo emblazoned on every side of the boxes. Whatever was inside, whether it was armour, guns or just pure cyberware that was ready to be put to use, it was either illicitly obtained or somebody had put it there on purpose. Militech didn’t give away shit for free, and if V was correct in his assumptions, somebody new had taken over at Asset Management because Valtteri Raikkonen was not that bad at his job.

_“Maybe an inside man at Militech, pilfering shit under the table for a few extra eddies?” Johnny asked, the lit cigarette creating an illusion of smoke coming from the tip._

_V shook his head. “Asset Management at Militech is like a fortress. As soon as they know something is gone, they’re onto it and it’s already in the process of getting retrieved. The only time that hasn’t happened is when it was on Stout’s purview with the Flathead drone. Something’s wrong, this can’t be right.”_

The solo had soon approached one of the crates that had not been stacked up, cracking the seals on the top of the box before he lifted up the lid. Inside, was a litany of unmarked rifles, serial numbers filed off with no tracking designators on the left side of the barrel. They weren’t Militech specifications, V was too familiar with them, he knew when something wasn’t by the numbers. He took one of the rifles from the box, lifting it gently from it’s holding stock with two magazines. An H&K G6 semi-automatic rifle, the barrel was longer than usual and the magazine was a drum instead of a regular ten-bullet mag.

_“Old rifles, no longer on the production line but still has specs in case an opportunity comes along for some quick money in a few arms deals.” V concurred. “Shit stock, in bulk to make more money.”_

_Johnny harrumphed. “Ain’t exactly Militech-spec rifles, huh? You think this was Militech?”_

_“No, Militech doesn’t put make them anymore. Like I said, they’d have the specs but they’re not in production. Somebody else must have given them. Probably the same with everything in here. Good stuff in general, but not as good in regards to current market gear and equipment.”_

V slid the rifle back into the box, putting the magazines back in place before he sealed the box back up. As soon as he walked out, he’d been confronted by a Sixer who just walked past the door. A sudden shout was cut off by the solo, punching the gangoon directly in the throat before he threw him back in the stock room. He’d gasped and struggled, roughly clutching at his throat before V had turned him around, kicked him to his knees before snapping his neck. The man dropped to the ground, lifelessly thudding against the concrete floor before V left him there. The mercenary had continued his expedition further into the compound, climbing up the steps to the second-floor office above the main garage.

“The equipment you gave us, some of it isn’t up to the scratch that you said it was! How we meant to do the tasks you give us when it ain’t the genuine article?!” A southern drawl shouted from the quiet office, V slinking inside as he closed the door silently, locking it.

A familiar voice replied, a slow but precise Asian voice. “It is of no concern of mine whether the quality of the equipment we gave you is of worth to you. You wished for armament, and we gave it to you. All you have to do is to attack Kang Tao and Lazarus Security firms. The fact you cannot do this as you promised is highly concerning.”

“Woah, Woah, it ain’t that we can’t do it! It’s just that, we can’t take on corpos like them without having some half-decent equipment, you know?”

There was a sinister timbre in the response. “Mr McAlly, if you cannot perform the tasks that we have set for you, we will find another employee who will do it without needless questions or requests of equipment, and it will be done in a much more efficient manner than you have managed. Do not call this number on the holo again.”

“No, wait!”

The call had already been cut off and the man with the southern accent had begun to rage and bang against the desk as his computer had gone silent. V had taken his chance as soon as he had seen it. Grabbing the man, he’d kicked his legs out from under him, throwing him to the floor. Flipping the man over, he’d grabbed his arm and hand, twisting slightly causing the man to gasp and groan in pain. He’d twisted hard, and with enough pressure, he’d break the hand in due course. That was going to be the plan anyway, whether he was truthful and explained everything would make it better or worse for him.

His gorilla hand was clasped right over his left hand, silver prosthesis over the elbow. “You’re gonna tell me where you got those weapon crates from, and you’re gonna be honest about it. If you say you robbed them, I will break your hand, and then your wrist and I will keep going if you keep lying. So, where’d you get them from?”

The man gasped, and V noticed that he was a lot older than most of his goons. Still, not old enough for him to feel guilty. “I… I don’t know!”

V’s augmented hand exerted an insane amount of pressure, crushing the bones in the man’s hand without much effort. His scream was cut as if he’d lost his voice in the middle of the attempt and proceeded into a silent cry. “What did I say, Mr McAlly. Don’t lie, tell me where you got the gear from, and I won’t break the wrist.”

“Ara…” the old man gasped, breathing heavily in very rapid gasps as he whined. “Arasaka! I swear! They send the same guy at the end of every month, I swear.”

V nodded, before he twisted the wrist fully, snapping it as the old man cried once again, a high-pitched pig squeal that turned into a pathetic mewling. “Arasaka, working with Sixers? Have you been taking too much ‘Dorph, McAlly?”

“Check… check the computer.” The man mewled, almost crying on the floor. “Proof, is on there.”

V had approached the computer, leaving the old man to mewl and whine on the floor in a pathetic pile. Sliding his jack-wire into the slot, he’d broken through the admittedly-shitty ICE security so he could look at the mail from the holo-net. Advertisements aplenty, the occasional scam email, the letters about free Mr Stud merchandise for those who weren’t endowed with good-enough _parts_ to pleasure others with. He’d eventually managed to filter the junk out when he scanned through some messages, from the same holo-address with documents that contained a shipping manifest.

Car parts, weapons, armour, tech, general supplies, and two people.

V turned around, extracting his wire before he hauled McAlly from the floor. Pressing him against a nearby desk, his silver hand wrapped itself around the old, rotund man’s clammy throat. He’d gasped, his hands trying to pull V’s away, but they failed greatly. “Please, I swear, I told you the truth. I don’t wanna die!”

V smiled, tightening his grip just a tad. “I’m not trying to kill you. Now, next question. The two people in the basement storage, Arasaka give you them?”

“Yes! We didn’t want them, but this chink fuck said if we didn’t keep them locked down there then he’d come by and slice us to bits! They roughed one of them up though, the other guy was a borg! Metal skin, fake hair, just implants in a shiny Militech casing, that’s it! He hasn’t woken up yet, but we keep him locked down tight!”

V strengthened his grip, causing the man to fall into a state of unconsciousness. “Wonderful. Thank you for the help, Mr McAlly.”

Walking away from the office, he’d gone down the steps and approached the basement floor. The place wasn’t as brightly lit as the main garage and the office floor, the light fixtures attached to the roof were flickering; some were already dead. Approaching a single door, it had opened unexpectedly, with a Sixer raising his rifle and firing as V dropped to the floor. He’d taken his shotgun and fired it once, blowing the guard away with a loud boom. Pellets hit the guard directly in the chest and gut, putting him out of action as quickly as he had joined it. There was a rush from V as he entered the room, throwing the body out of the doorway before he locked it behind him, gunshots pinging directly against the door just as it closed and was locked. V had put another shell into the lock system, perma-locking the door.

Upon turning on the light, he’d been shocked to see the two bodies mentioned in the manifest from the computer. One shiny steel body made fit to look as human as possible other than the shiny silver skin that was in the place of the genuine article. The tuft of hair on the silver skin was clearly synthetic, light brown in colour with a small smattering of skin over the body’s eyes. That was the borg, that looked almost as if it had been flatlined. The man at his side, Dex DeShawn, was nowhere near as supple or large as he appeared to be when V had first met him. His golden prosthesis was missing, his belly was gone and his beard had grown significantly, as well as looking extremely ratty.

V had approached, sliding his shotgun back on his hip as he grabbed Dex by the head, forcing him to look at him in the eye. Both eyes had been taken out, pieces of skin around his cheek flayed off and left to scar. The African-American fixer was awake, although he looked around desperately, even if he was unable to see.

“Who…” the man managed to sputter, his voice dry and rough. “who is that? Who are you?”

V had seen no reason to lie. “Dex, it’s V. I’ve come to get you out.”

“V?” Dex managed to gasp between heavy breaths. “Damn, I… I didn’t think you’d made it out of… the….”

“Neither did I, for a while,” V muttered, cracking through the shackles around Dex’s legs, arms and neck. “Look, just, keep breathing and stay calm. You’re gonna be fine, and we can talk when we’re out of here.”

Dex had his right hand remaining, feeling around for his prosthesis which was not present, but he had managed to release a sigh of relief when he could still feel both of his legs, even if he was left without a left foot. V had reloaded his shotgun, exchanging his buckshot in exchange for heavy slugs. He’d taken a knee in front of the deactivated borg, and after checking through his circuits, had discovered the fact that he hadn’t been activated in what seemed like weeks. V had slid his wire into the slot at the back of the borg’s neck, running a full diagnostic test before activating the borg without much thought.

_“I wouldn’t have surprised him like that, but you know what V, ballsy move.”_

V did not have time to react to what Johnny had said, mainly due to the fact that his silver hand had been caught in the extreme grip of the borg, throwing him to the floor in front of him. V had wrested his hand away from the borg, the two soon getting up. V was ready for combat, putting himself in front of Dex quickly as he waited for the cyborg to make the first move. Johnny had soon glitched into V’s view. Johnny stared directly at the borg as the man-bot had begun to run his own tests on his structure.

_“As I said, I wouldn’t have surprised him. Besides, this big guy is quite familiar. Say hello to Shaitan. Veteran Solo and one of Arasaka’s worst enemies. He’s more borg than Smasher, full-body conversion. This guy, brain in a jar, but one tough motherfucker. Literally the Devil.”_

The cyborg had finally finished running it’s diagnostics, it’s head twisting and turning to look around the room, analysing every inch before it set it’s sights on Dex and V. It soon approached heavily, stomping against concrete before V pushed his hands up to the roof. “Wait, wait! I’m friendly! You’re, you’re Shaitan, right! I work with Rogue, right, I’m with you!”

The cyborg had stopped in it’s tracks. Silver skin reflecting and glittering in the flickering light. “Where, where am I?”

“In a garage basement, about to get murdered by some fuckin’ Sixth Street goons working for Arasaka, wanna lend a hand?” V asked, hauling Dex from the floor with his good arm. Shaitan scanned the room, grabbing a pipe right from the wall, ripping it straight from it’s fixture. He’d even stood in front of V, his hand open. V handed the borg his shotgun, as well as his bandolier of slugs and shells.

Within one hard kick, the door was ripped from it’s hinges. The cyborg had charged into the fray, a hail of gunfire welcoming him into life once more. Screams and cries could be heard as V carried Dex from the basement. The cyborg had almost torn through the Sixth Street gangoons, with a sick glee as he smacked them around with the heavy metal pipe, blowing holes through their chests with V’s shotgun. The hallway was coated in blood. Shaitan had moved in bursts of incredible speed, his heavy punches breaking skulls, strikes with his pipe would knock the goons unconscious before they could even get a shot off. With two goons, Shaitan had relished in the chance to cause pain.

One goon had raised a battle rifle, but Shaitan had immediately ripped the rifle out of his hands and deftly slammed the rifle into his gut and then across his face. A goon got up from behind him, only to have his leg blasted off with a blast of Shaitan’s Sovereign. A cry of utter pain rang out through the hallway before Shaitan had silenced it with a heavy slam of his iron pipe, crushing the man’s skull. The second man punched Shaitan across the face, breaking three of his knuckles in the process. With a swiftness V had never seen before in his life, Shaitan kicked the man directly in the knee, displacing the bone.

A scream ripped through the building, amplified even more when Shaitan took the pipe and jammed it right through the flesh and skin of the ganger’s knee, totally destroying the man’s shin. The man gripped the pipe, unable to move it without causing himself more pain. He clutched the pipe, stuck in place as Shaitan turned to the final goon that he’d smacked with the rifle. Shaitan unleashed a slick flurry of straight jabs to the man’s gut, and then another series of jabs straight to his face. The facial strikes broke the man’s nose, a heavy crack audible before Shaitan slammed him against the wall next to the steps back up to the surface.

Shaitan showed no mercy to the goon, crushing the man’s skull underfoot, the gory mess splattered across the wall. V had followed the warpath created by the cyborg as he murdered every single Arasaka-owned Sixer throughout the compound. Rifle fire began, only to be cut off abruptly, and as V exited the main garage, he noticed Shaitan’s skin glaring in the Night City moonlight. The borg was capable of great pain and violence, as was clear as he walked past the results of his furor. As V had followed the borg, he managed to escape the main gates of the camp in the chaos.

River had heard the gunfire, and amidst shouts, screams and panicked squeals before being cut off, he’d put the car into action. Reversing down the alley and in front of the compound, River had arrived at just the right time. V had managed to usher Dex into the passenger side before he ran to River’s window.

He'd placed a hand tight on the detective’s shoulder. “Viktor Vektor’s ripperdoc surgery, go through Misty’s Esoterica, tell them V sent you. Go, now!”

River’s car had sped off immediately, the PI’s truck speeding off with his fixer in the passenger seat. The gunfire had gone silent, replaced with the heavy blaring and engine thrusts as an AV hovered over the compound itself. Shaitan soon found himself at V’s side, shotgun in one hand with a rifle in the other. The AV was covered in the logo of Arasaka, the door opening as five soldiers leapt out of the side of the aerial vehicle.

One man found himself leading the other four. Pale skin, with black hair, draped over one side of his head. His armour was all-black, Arasaka’s best with a tinge of the old Samurai warrior plating on his shoulders, chest and legs. He drew his katana from it’s sheath, mantis blade drawn from his free hand as his allies drew their own swords too. He aimed his sword at Shaitan and V, taunting them.

“I am Sandayu Oda, apprentice to Goro Takemura,” The cyberninja announced, blade twirling in his hand, “surrender now, and you will be swiftly executed, in the name of the Arasaka Family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheeky little cliffhanger there, and now you see how I'm merging 2020 and 2077 characters in this story now, as it should have been!  
> -Apollo


	23. Duel

**_11/09/2077  
Destroyed Sixer Compound, Heywood District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**There was a small amount of joy V had begun to feel when he set his eyes on Sandayu Oda, the cyberninja dropping from the aerial vehicle with his fellow cybernetic soldiers.

Alongside that joy, there was a small amount of worry flittering through his head as each swordsman drew their blades, holding them tight in one hand with a much smaller wakizashi in their free hand. They had stepped in line with each other, their leader in front of them as his eyes did not sway from the two solos that stood in front of them.

The grey cyberninjas, in a squad of five, had circled the two mercenaries. Shaitan had emptied the chambers of the double-barrel shotgun, refilling the two chambers before he flicked the gun closed. He held the same metal pipe he had ripped from his temporary prison; both ends of the pipe were coated in heavy splays and splatters blood, a crimson liquid dripping from the tips. V himself was unarmed for the moment before his left arm split open, his single Mantis Blade erupting as V assumed a cautious stance, his mono-filament wire sliding out from under his wrist.

Shaitan’s heavy droning voice boomed from behind V. “I guess these are the Arasaka goons you mentioned that had bought out those goons.”

“They might be, why, you were expecting more?” V grunted from behind the towering borg-solo. “Welcome to twenty-seventy-seven, Shaitan. Shit’s fucked.”

The cyberninjas had surrounded them, all six cyberninjas pointing their blades at the two mercenaries in front of them. Each swordsman was covered from head to toe in grey armour, shiny paint glinting brightly from below the shining moonlight, serial numbers visible on the gorget and shoulder plating of the soldiers that had outnumbered them. The soldiers began to move clockwise, pressing the two solos from two different eras into moving in a counter-clockwise manner to ready themselves for an attack.

Both Shaitan and V were watching each soldier, how some of them were switching their stances as they rotated to face their opponents. Some held their small blades directly against the main grip of their blade, in planning to create death by a thousand cuts for the merciless killers in front of them. Others sheathed their wakizashis, both hands on their main weapon for more strength in their strikes once they had begun their attacks.

“For two solos that are so under the radar, you have managed to cause us a miniscule amount of trouble. No matter, we will dispose of you quickly. You two, are no different to a pair of street rats.” Oda growled, his blade beginning swivel around in his light grip. “This will be easier if you just allow this to happen, a poor solo and an out-of-date robot, might as well just give up now.”

“You practice that speech in the mirror, you goddamn corpo-rat?” Shaitan replied, synthetic vocal cords working to provide his new voice. “Come on, I’ve killed so many of you I’ve almost lost count.”

V growled. “You two done flirting?”

As soon as V spoke, the ninja who was two-handing his sword stepped forward, an overhead strike coming down towards V’s head. His Mantis Blade found itself deflecting the blow, V’s hand finding the grip of his mono-wire, whipping it towards the cyberninja just as he leapt out of its reach. Moving around to compensate, Shaitan had deftly dealt with another soldier, his bloodied pipe clashing with another swordsman’s blade before the swordsman was kicked away and back into the circle.

The circling of each other, from the outside as well as the inside before everything, broke out into a brawl. V had pushed himself off from the sturdy back of the cyborg, throwing himself into the presence of Oda as well as two other ninjas. Shaitan had given a mighty mechanic groan as he threw himself into the fray. Heavy strikes from his pipe kept each of the three ninjas away from the borg, deflecting strikes with high-pitched screeches as metal ground against bloody metal. The humanistic robot had managed to kick one away for a small moment, focusing his aggression on the two ninjas in front before he managed to stun one of them, throwing him to the ground as he limited his opponents to two fronts.

V however, was in a battle for his life. The Arasaka cyberninjas were relentless in attack, strikes whishing and splitting hairs with each strike as V managed to either duck, dodge or barely deflect each blow. The smell of blood was mixing with the smell of fumes and smoke from the fires that were slowly rising from the devastated Sixer compound. He tried to steel himself from every external factor, focusing on every step, swing and stance change that the ninjas took before they would swing. V couldn’t breathe, moving quickly between deflections and blocks directly into another strike before he threw himself away from the three warriors.

“As is to be expected! You are not strong enough to truly fight the best of the best!” Oda gloated, his sword almost floating in and out between the air and his grip as he twirled it away. “I expected more, from somebody who has caused so much trouble. Goro-Dono will be proud when I bring him your head!”

As soon as V had heard Oda gloat amidst the sounds of battle between the Afterlife Solos and the Arasaka Ninjas, V had taken enough of a beating on his defence to stop caring. One hit would take him down if he wasn’t careful, but he was augmented by Militech for combat reasons. This was combat, this was his domain, and he would not lose to a glorified child with a plastic sword.

One ninja approached, sword thrusting forward to stab through V’s heart. Sliding to the left, V slipped past the blade, kicking the ninja in the back of the leg before he deflected the next strike from the opponent behind him. His Mantis Blade sliced through the stunned ninja’s left arm, his katana dropping to the gravel and concrete, the contact creating a sudden chinking sound which distracted one of Shaitan’s own opponents.

The borg had taken the chance as soon as he was given it, running full force as he superman-punched the ninja, knocking him clean out before he crushed his skull with the remains of the broken pipe, leaving the steel enveloped in the flesh and grey matter. The battle was not over, with Shaitan taking the sword of the dead ninja before continuing his skirmish against his remaining enemies. V had followed the borg’s lead, his mono-filament wire slicing through the stunned soldier’s neck, decapitating him before he rolled under Oda’s strike.

V adjusted his stance, his back towards Shaitan as Oda and his fellow soldier cornered V once more in the demolished courtyard of the compound. V held the blade in his silver hand, twirling it quickly as his mono-wire dangled limply from his left wrist. Oda and the ninja attacked at the same time, V deflecting the first strike from Oda before he ducked out from the next one from his fellow ninja.

Shaitan, however, had been absolutely relentless in his fight against the Arasaka soldiers. For a borg that had been around for longer than V had been alive, he was fighting as if he were a genuine man that had been possessed by rage and anger that he had not seen much of in Night City. Shaitan would use whatever momentum he could get, he’d bash into the soldiers to get breathing room for a single punch, he’d use heavy kicks or swing wildly to allow him space to move in the way he wanted to. Shaitan was a fighter, a brutal monster who refused to back down when cornered, even

Granted, he was a borg and they always used their weight and power to their advantage, but it worked for him. His enemies didn’t have a method of fighting back against his pure brawn and strength, they had to strike first and pray their strikes would connect. Even so, his metal body refused to break for layered steel samurai blades. If they were altered to become high-frequency, then perhaps it would be different, but they weren’t.

Guarding himself, V began to block strikes instead of dodging them. Subsequent overhead strikes would be pushed away, a strike to his side pressed away before he went for a counter-plunge which was blocked by Oda. The unnamed ninja had gone on a campaign, striking quickly and rapidly against V’s guard in an effort to break his guard and finally end the fight against the dirty little rat. In one mistimed attack, the ninja lunged forward, with V’s mono-wire wrapping around the blade before the ultra-heated filament turned the steel into shards of metal clanging against the gravel and concrete road.

Unarmed, the ninja rushed wildly, his wakizashi outstretched over his head as V sliced off the arm before his stolen katana found itself buried to the hilt in the chest of the now-dying ninja. Oda straightened, his guard dropping as V kicked the body from the steel blade, the ninja flopping lifelessly to the ground. Shaitan had continued in his brutal slug-fest with the two ninjas, but he had soon cut the fight down short. One ninja had his leg cut down, his knee disappearing as the flesh split away. Falling to the ground, a voice screamed out from under the metal helmet, a microphone offering a tone of static terror as Shaitan focused on his sole enemy. Shaitan went on the offensive, striking fast and hard, keeping the sole ninja on the back foot before the cyberninja jumped back into the fight.

One overhead strike, it didn’t even get the chance to be blocked. Shaitan had thrust his blade forward into the man’s head, catching the falling blade from his hands as the ninja’s head sunk slowly further down the blade. With multiple tugs, the skull split open with a sickening crackling as bone, grey matter and blood spurted from the wound as Shaitan approached V and Sandayu Oda.

“Seems you are stronger than I first thought,” Oda growled, his pale skin looking whiter than the driven snow. “No matter, just because you beat some of my lesser soldiers does not mean you will ever comprehend the impossibility of both of you getting close enough to lay a strike on me.”

“That,” Shaitan started, looking Oda up and down, “is the classic delusions that most people working at Arasaka have. Always thinking you can’t be beaten.”

Oda laughed, a loud gasping laugh. His silver armour jolted and jangled; sword twirling rapidly as V witnessed Oda spun the handle rapidly. The armour itself reminded V of the classic samurai armour. Regardless of the lack of helmet, or the missing menpo mask that most would wear, Oda did cut a somewhat threatening figure. He looked younger than most street-rats did, youthful skin on his head that was surrounded by a steel grey material that seemed to slither and crawl under the armour, grappling at his chin where the material ended but clambered around his jawline and over his ears.

“I refuse to contemplate a future where I will allow you to fight me and win, it will not happen,” Oda growled, taking a defensive stance. “I will kill you and spike your heads in front of the Arasaka Tower.”

_Johnny glitched behind Oda, smoking as he usually did. “Jesus Christ, what a fuckin’ twink. Can you end this quick? I need some shots to deal with just listening to him speak.”_

_“Yeah, me too.”_

V had approached first, slowly as his mono-wire retreated back into his wrist but Shaitan had spoken already. “No fucking chance. I didn’t let Smasher kill me in twenty-three, and I ain’t dying to some punk kid with a sword.”

“The robot has spoken too much!” Oda shouted; his hand outstretched as a small device let out a quick burst. V felt his HUD fizzle out, and Shaitan had shorted out almost immediately. “No more, Goro-Dono told me how you stole from Master Saburo. A thief has no honour. So I shall show you no mercy.”

Oda had jumped onto the attack, slicing wildly at V as the solo was forced onto the back foot in a rapid change of pace. Oda would strike and strike without a breath, without giving him an inch of space before he’d spin his blade, switch stance and get back on the offensive. On the back foot, V tried to push forward and attack to balance out the amount of aggression between. Oda, however, was a much more skilled opponent than V had expected. In each attempt to strike with the blade, V would be pushed away or the blade would be struck and rebounded away, leading V to defend as soon as Oda lunged, leapt and swiped at him with his own blade.

The duel had gone on very longer than V needed, his HUD continuing to fizzle as the small rains that would come down arrived. Light sprinkles of water dashed down as metal screamed as the blades would lock up. V would throw an elbow at Oda to break the lock, coming out on the offensive before V found himself cartwheel-kicked in the head, and put back on the back foot. Slices and cuts were chipping away at the layered metal of V’s blade, and his mentality of bending but not breaking whilst Oda was on the attack was no longer working. V struck back at Oda’s next blow, sending him flying to the left when he ducked under his overhead strike, thundering past before he drove his elbow deep into the back of Oda’s head, pushing him and stunning him for a moment.

The swordsmen stared at the other, and V’s silver arm soon opened once more. A red samurai blade, axled and locked to his forearm revealed itself. The Muramasa crackled and sparked with flares of red energy, the blade itself coated in a slick shine of crimson paint over the layered metal. Oda’s blade had a similar appearance, the slight curve in the blade, the way it shone in the moonlight revealed a slight purple glow inside the ripples of the steel, markings from the initial layering process. Throwing the chipped, and frankly useless blade he had commandeered, away, V and Oda began to circle each other once more.

“Brave, but foolish. Goro-Dono told me you had a foul mouth, but you have been quiet in comparison to your borg friend.” Oda stated with a smirk. “Perhaps, you know greatness when it is in your presence?”

V shook his head, the Muramasa sliding forward just so it lingered under the side of his hand as a guard. “Words don’t matter as much as actions, Oda. I’d be dead already if you knew that.

Oda laughed. “I know more than you ever will, that was assured by Master Takemura. There is an honour in what I do, not that it brings me pleasure to do right by those who taught me.”

“Honour in being a murderer?”

“You cannot claim to say I have no honour, not when you stole from my superiors. There is no honour among thieves.”

V nodded, changing his guard as he held his blade-arm in front of him, a defensive posture. He smirked, beckoning with his free hand for Oda to make the first move. The cyberninja had done so, charging openly as his blade lunged forward, batted down by the Muramasa as V threw a swift jab to Oda’s chest, forcing him back before the ninja rushed in once again. Blows came in from the left, blocked by V as he lunged forward, pushing the blade away before he would recoil his elbow back into Oda’s chin.

Oda forced himself to change his stance, drawing his small blade in his off-hand whilst keeping his katana in his strong one. Once again, V had taunted the superior swordsman, cooing for Oda to come and try to at least threaten him in some way. Oda, in his anger, had thrown an overhead strike, only to be parried by V’s blade, with the ex-corpo catching the man’s off-hand in his tight gorilla grip.

“Come on, I fought wasteland yuppies with bigger balls than you!” V taunted, an open smile on his face before broke Oda’s grip on his smaller blade, taking it for himself. “Kill me, come on! Show me that superior training!”

The rain was heaving down upon the compound, the two combatants being fully pelted with rain as the ninja circled once more. V held his wakizashi in his off-hand, his Muramasa still ready and waiting to be put to use. He threw Oda’s blade to the ground, taking his karambit knife from his belt, twirling it around his finger as he waited for Oda to strike. He soon was caught in his rage, and in his anger struck out of pure spite. Violent, crazed, manic strikes as his wet hair flung itself from side to side as he desperately continued on his quest to strike down the runt that had information that his masters needed back.

His strikes grew quicker, fuelled by hatred of the man in front of him as he continued to block and dodge. Panicked lunges led to V slicing away at the synthetic tendons and muscles in his calves and thighs. A poorly-timed overhead swing led to V ripping a large tear in the flesh of his left arm with his reddened blade. Limping, wounded, panicked and weary from the battle that he refused to lose. He held his sword by the hilt, aiming to strike from the bottom rising upwards when the rat approached him for the final time.

For Oda, it had been a worthy battle, but it was time to end it.

V strolled to the assassin, and Oda unleashed his final move. A wild swing from below, only it never connected. V had caught the arm of the Arasaka apprentice, jolting it upwards as he felt the snapping of his elbow, before his karambit tore through more artificial flesh, crippling him. Jinchu-Maru, his blade, clattered to the floor lifelessly, scraping against the pothole-ridden road. Kicked down to his knees, Oda tried helplessly to do something, anything to find a way to win.

He had nothing. Disarmed, crippled, mutilated by some common thug. Goro-dono would be ashamed of him, disgusted even.

“End me…” Sandayu whispered.

“I will. Soon.” V replied, taking the Jinchu-Maru away. Oda looked at the purple glow, the mysticism of the forgery it came from in Japan was imbued in the very steel. “Tell me, do you have cameras?”

“I will not…”

“A quick death, I will give it to you if you answer with the truth, unlike the rest of your Arasaka goon-squad, you seem to have some honour.” The nomad interrogated, holding both his blade as well as the Jinchu-Maru to his throat. “Do you have cameras in those eyes?”

Oda’s head fell. “Yes.”

“Good. If your masters are watching, consider this a message.” V’s red blade retracted as he grabbed Oda’s head to look him in the eye. “You took someone from me. I’m going to take everything, from you.”

Releasing the assassin’s head, it fell once again to reveal the naked back of his neck. The sword was light in his hand, yet sharper than he had expected it to be. V swung with a graceful elegance to his strikes, Oda’s head falling to the floor. The assassin was dead, and V had finally got what he needed since he had woke up from his coma. Evelyn was safe, Dex was alive, and even better, he’d rescued a legend from twenty-twenty.

Holding the sword in reverse, V had managed to pick up Shaitan, in spite of how heavy he was. He hadn’t jacked into the borg, not to wake him up but just so he didn’t have to have the awkward conversation of stating how much had changed since he had last been activated. V had soon called his car from the block he’d left it in, the hypercar screaming against the road as it parked outside the alley. V had soon placed the blade in the trunk, and his friendly borg in the passenger seat. Closing the passenger-side door, he’d leant against the car as he took a deep sigh of relief.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to drive off into the night, directly to the one place that V knew Shaitan would be welcome with somebody who knew him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter to top off the end of the last one. Next chapter will be a little slow one, some more Rogue and Panam for all of you still reading! I painstakingly wrote this, because dragging out a simple fight of a 2 v 6 is oddly harder than I realised at first!  
> -Apollo


	24. Wicked Games

**_12/09/2077  
The Afterlife, Watson  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**V had been rather taken with his new unconscious companion. Unlike most of the hostages he rescued when he was working for fixers, they tended to not be interesting (mostly due to the fact that they couldn’t talk) but despite his state, the borg Shaitan was interesting to just look at, let alone talk to whenever he would get the chance.

_“Jesus, not don’t offer to blow him or anything V.” Johnny growled in the back of his mind. “He won’t appreciate kiss-assery, and he only talks like a normal person if he’s destroying something that belongs to Arasaka in the past day. I’d guess he might hate Arasaka more than me.”_

_“I never got that vibe from him, he just seems violent.”_

_Johnny harrumphed loudly in his skull. “You didn’t know him for five years. Putting Arasaka in front of Shaitan? Like waving a red flag in front of a bull.”_

V nodded in response to Johnny’s comments. He’d grown up hearing stories about the legends that resided in Night City, whether they were humans, cyberized people, or just all-out cyborgs like Shaitan. In his life, he never thought he’d meet one of them at all, let alone four of them (technically three, with Johnny being dead it took one back as much as he argued for it). The fact he’d even saved one would give him (at least he hoped it would) give him a major boost to his reputation on the street.

Working as a solo, whether it was as a group or genuinely being alone, was always tough to get a name out there unless the said name had a good amount of skill and experience to it. V had the experience and skill, he had pure power, but nobody knew a nameless corpo or some backwards-ass nomad from the desert. They needed an image; they needed a name to match the face. V was working himself up there, albeit slowly as he could.

Sometimes recognition wasn’t always the best thing for a guy like him or any solo or edgerunner in particular. Regardless, it was important. Rogue had been playing the game the longest, she was the Queen of the Afterlife for a reason. Emmerich was the former leader of the Animals, he had experience in handling people in every capacity, that and he caught an extremely intimidating image.

Johnny, at least from how Rogue spoke, was Johnny. He had the swagger, the appearance, the sheer go-fuck-yourself-itude which V had lacked. It was probably the main reason she’d ripped him from his high when he went to collect his intel from her. V wasn’t Johnny Silverhand, regardless of how much he dressed like him or if he had the similar model of the iconic silver hand.

_“She had a point though, you know?” Johnny said, casually appearing in V’s mirrors. “You can’t just act like me and expect to get everywhere. There’s no other person like me, but me.”_

_“Gee, don’t try and blow your own ego up now, Johnny. We all know you’d do it if you could.”_

_Johnny laughed. “Yeah, I don’t need to do that when I got you around to do all the work for me.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, you can blow yourself too, I ain’t doing that for you, no matter how much you want me too.”_

_“You only wish I rolled like that, V. In your wildest fuckin’ dreams. Shit almost reminds me of Kerry…”_

The dead rockerboy retreated from reality and scampered back into his hidey-hole that was V’s head. He’d gotten comfortable, despite the occasional headache he’d feel when Johnny ragged through his memories like his hippocampus and amygdala were just a shitty filing cabinet to him. V had tried to do the same to the rocker, but his memories were much harder to crack open, and Johnny wasn’t being exactly forthcoming with his own life.

_“Woah, don’t try and dig into my life without asking first, choom?” Johnny had caught him off. “I’m the one stuck in here, not the other way around. I gotta entertain myself, especially when you’re doing whatever the fuck it is in Night City that isn’t burning ‘Saka Tower to the ground.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Dig to your heart’s content.” V grunted as he drifted slowly through the early morning traffic. One in the morning; Afterlife would still be open when wasn’t it?_

The traffic wasn’t as bad as he had expected it to be, it wasn’t jam-packed to the brim like usual. Whatever V had done hadn’t even made it worse, Arasaka had sent off a goon squad and expected them to take care of it. No lockdowns, no checkpoints, whatever they were hiding needed to be kept hidden and in the dark. Shaitan, despite being a freedom fighter back in the twenties, was technically a fugitive in the present.

Not anymore, he doubted that Shaitan would remember much of his time if he was turned off or in a constant state of being in static shock. That was a weakness of undergoing a full-body conversion, as much as your personality was copied and pasted into the cybernetic body, the wires and mechanical parts that replaced the vessels and organs turned what once was a man into a full-on robot.

As much as they didn’t like that term, it was what they were. Shaitan still had the body of a human, despite the gun-metal coloured skin, artificial brown hair with his synth-skin faceplate over his eyes. His gear had been stripped away, left in a black net-running suit which he had battled ruthlessly in. He was still unconscious, disabled, however, a borg was referred to when they were taken out of action. Sovereign was still in Shaitan’s grip, tight in his rigorous grasp. The radio music had been muted, with V still trying to clear the ringing and grind of swords sliding against each other. The metal screeched loudly, and when V fought Oda directly, his eyes were almost burnt out.

The Muramasa and the Jinchu-Maru, the blades that glowed a bright red and eerie purple sparked as soon as they made contact with the other. The little theory that V had taken away was that it was just a small coincidence or the blades were made by the same forger. It was a nice little idea he had, as meaningless as it actually was. Oda was dead, whoever was watching through his eyes, had seen V’s declaration of war on Arasaka. He hoped Smasher and Takemura had seen it, had seen the camera-eyes roll into the back of Oda’s head during his deathly woes. He’d finally managed to strike back in a meaningful way, or at least meaningful to him.

V had eventually reached Watson, sliding through the traffic to The Afterlife. The club seemed to be having a quiet day, and by that, the queue was only slightly smaller than it usually was. V killed the engine, dragging Shaitan over his shoulder as he hauled him into the club. Emmerich almost had an aneurysm when he saw the borg form of Shaitan dangling lifelessly over the shoulder of the jumped-up solo that had been given a larger-than-usual portion of Rogue’s attention.

He’d allowed them in without a word, pushing towards Rogue’s booth. The old woman had been chatting casually away with Squama before she had caught sight of V walking into the club with a familiar cyborg-solo on his arm. She’d rushed over quickly, too quickly for a woman of her age, not that it mattered. Squama had taken Shaitan by his sagging arm, hauling him up even more than V had done. The two mercenaries had dragged Shaitan through the door behind the bar, with Rogue following behind closely as they took him to a back room.

The room was retro-fitted, a small ripperdoc surgery room, but also useful for net-running at the same time. It was compact, V would say too small even, but everything managed to fit snugly inside. Squama took Shaitan, placing the borg gently in the net-running chair. A small black guy, wearing an orange hexagon-patterned shirt with white camo cargos was immediately connecting him to wires and diagnostic machines.

Rogue had locked the door behind her. “Squama, you do not leave this room. Until Shaitan wakes up, you guard him.”

“Will do, Rogue,” Squama replied, his Haitian Creole-accent tingling in his words.

“Nix, make sure he can move and talk when he wakes up. I want to see him as soon as he gets up and about before he runs off again.” The Queen of the Afterlife ordered.

The small man nodded, his snow-white hair standing on edge. “Roger that, I’ll call you in as soon as he wakes up. Might be a while though. What about this?” Nix held out the Sovereign.

V shrugged. “Tell him to keep it as a professional courtesy from the guy who saved his ass.”

“Just take as long as you need, make sure he wakes up.” Rogue again stated, before turning to the door with V.

Rogue had almost immediately dragged V outside of the room, locking it down again before the two went upstairs. The thudding and pounding of the lazrpop that was resounding through the club began to dull the more that Rogue and V went upstairs. The two had ended up in a cosy apartment that just overlooked the Afterlife parking lot, the decoration of the rooms was dated at best, with items and décor that looked fresh out of twenty-twenty. The older woman had soon set herself down on her grey fabric couch, letting out a deep groan.

V had soon found himself bumbling around the apartment. For once, he felt extremely naked. His gun belt was empty, holsters absent of a gun to be held in them. His pants were coated in much, as were his boots, his Samurai vest clinging to his skin. He’d resisted the urge to stick his head in the fridge or to even steal a beer. Fuck it, he’d have a drink when he went back down to the bar.

“How, in the fuck, do you manage to find Shaitan? Don’t give me some bullshit answer, or be all humble. Just tell me how you found him.” Rogue ordered, lying on the couch.

V smirked. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It was a coincidence.”

“Bullshit.”

“I ain’t got a reason to lie, Rogue. If I did, I wouldn’t have brought him here.” V replied, quick on the reply. “Found him when I was looking for Dex, the Sixers had them both, tied down and in the shit.”

Rogue squinted, pulling herself up to a sitting position. Her eyes did not leave V. “That based on the information I gave you? That how you found Shaitan?”

“Yeah, the Sixers were being backed by Arasaka.”

“V, that doesn’t make any sense.”

V’s eye glowed a bright yellow, a small info package being sent to Rogue via the Holo. “One of the Sixer bosses, talking to a higher-up from Arasaka. Handing off the junk and old-gen Militech gear to use. For what, if I had to guess, was for attacks on Arasaka itself to give them some good publicity, making Militech look worse on the net.”

“Why wouldn’t they use the Claws?”

V shook his head. “Too obvious, we all know the Claws are basically Arasaka’s goons if they can’t be bothered getting their hands dirty. Besides, human trafficking and body disposal rings? Arasaka basically uses them as a trashcan for shit they don’t want. They went far out, and it paid off until now. We know.”

“We know jack shit,” Rogue stated, plainly.

“The hell do you mean?”

Rogue got up, moving to her kitchen before she pulled herself a beer. “I mean, we keep this news to ourselves until it becomes relevant to use it. By that, it means until Arasaka is weak enough for it to have a hold.”

V clenched his fists tightly. “Rogue, it’s Arasaka! When are they ever weak?”

The older woman didn’t reply in time, too busy chugging the can instead of answering to the young solo. She’d shotgunned the can in record time, tossing the metal away before she pushed back the cyber-soldier. She was dressed casually, yellow shirt and tight black leather trousers instead of her usual all-black kit. Regardless of her clothes, she looked business as much as she always did. She didn’t pay much attention to V, not that it mattered to him in the slightest. He had her attention whenever he came to the club, he was a worthwhile soldier to have. As young as he was, he still didn’t understand the game on the streets as much as she did.

He did, however, know how corpos played the games. It was basically a law of counter-intelligence, act to deny another’s ability to discredit or rip on your own crew. Every single day was a lesson in internal and external politics. If Arasaka had decided to throw hands on one day, it was his day to act back and deny, deny, deny. If a stock dropped because of Arasaka’s actions, it was his job to make sure the stock went back up by any means necessary. Every day, it was just an act to react, the never-ending story of Arasaka supremacy against Militech ingenuity.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t give Arasaka the occasional nightmare. He was pretty sure he’d given the company many shafts before he’d actually stole their property and killed their soldiers.

The old fixer approached V, face to face. He almost felt like he was shrinking. “Listen, V. You are making a name for yourself. Taking down the Tyger Claws across from the Oh-No? Intimidating Woodman at Clouds without a care in the world? Killing the scavvers down in Pacifica? I hear everything because it’s my business to. You have a rep, and it’s growing quickly.”

“That ain’t a rep, that’s just me doing a job.”

Rogue grabbed him by his collar. “Quiet, I’m speaking now. You’re new to this game, so you listen. People know your name. The Padre, Wakako Okada, The Mox. You are not just some street-rat gunning down goons like a day job, this is good work. You know who called me yesterday, ‘El Capitan’ Reyes. Asking me about this soldier marauding around Watson and Heywood, apparently quite efficient, got a nifty silver arm to boot.”

“It’s not about me having a rep, Rogue. I ain’t about that. Never was, and I never will be. Thinking like that is what got my friend killed, I’m out of it.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are in or you are out. This is it now. This is your life. You’re an edge-runner, you’re a merc, you are a goddamn solo whether you like it or not. The sooner you get that through your thick titanium skull, the better off you’re gonna be in this city. Now, we’re gonna go down to the club. You’re gonna get yourself a drink on me, and find yourself a nice girl and enjoy the night. You read?”

V took a deep breath. “Copy that, ma’am.”

“Good. And don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old.”

V nodded, with the two leaving the small apartment before heading further down and back into the clutches of the Afterlife. The lazrpop had died into something that resembled music, even if it had changed from unintelligible digital sounds to general screaming into a mic. Rogue had almost immediately been tailed by two large guards, larger than Squama was as her new security detail. She’d waved V off, with the grungy and dirty edge-runner heading off to the bar with her brushing him off. He’d approached cautiously, that was at least until Claire had caught his eye again and called him over, showing him to an empty stool.

He took a seat somewhat cautiously. He would have thought that Rogue would have done something more immediate about the Arasaka deal with the Sixers, but perhaps he was wrong. That, or she was playing a game that was levels above him that he couldn’t comprehend. She was older than him, by a significant margin, she knew the game better than V would have at any point in his life.

“So, you managed to find yourself back here again, huh?” Claire asked, a proper smile on her face as she started on V’s drink.

“Something like that, I guess,” V muttered, tapping his prosthesis against the bar top, bored. “How’s it been since I was last here?”

“Same old, same old. Ain’t many changes around here.” Claire replied, finishing his drink before handing it to him. “Rogue’s got this, got a message just before you came over. You have been doing some gigs for her then, huh?”

V shrugged, sipping slowly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

The bartender could see that V was being purposefully quiet, unusually so. She’d soon left him to his devices, checking in on her other customers before she went about her regular bar duties as her two fellow employees continued with their jobs. V remained alone for a while, finishing the Welles before he’d started on the beers. Estrella, Peroni, the odd Heineken, all of them went down the same.

That was at least until he saw a familiar face from Lizzie’s. The purple and black buns of hair ripped clothing with chains dangling from her jeans, that general punkish look. Rita Wheeler, still wearing that ripped white shirt that proudly displayed her cleavage as well as her allegiance. The tattoo that covered the width of her breasts that screamed ‘MOX’, inked into her skin. She was on her own, but she wasn’t looking bothered by it at all.

V had never really noticed how much she’d been chipped since he had first caught sight of her at Lizzie’s. Her arms were entirely cybernetic, black and purple metal with small spikes scattered on her forearms. Her body, whilst he couldn’t see all of it (although he had an idea that he soon would) seemed to be almost synthetic too. Her exposed chest seemed to have an almost unnatural degree of shininess to it that screamed chrome to V.

Those degrees of artificiality had stopped mattering to V the moment he had been given a new eye and some shiny new arms from Militech. The army had already taken his arms, but he’d deigned to keep at least one of his eyes. He’d done so until Konpeki, but at least he’d managed to get a hold of matching colours. If somehow Meredith could get off with a half-robot like him, what was stopping him from doing the same.

_“Oh yeah, this is what I am fucking talking about V! Stop fucking with the corpo-bitch and bag that hot piece of ass!” Johnny cheered, almost as if he were about to dance. “Goddamn, now you are thinking like a goddamn rocker!”_

V had gathered his confidence, downing the rest of his beer before he managed to steel himself with some exaggerated swagger. Any time he saw Rita, she’d always give him the eyes, something in the way she looked just gave him the idea. There wasn’t any shame in looking for sex, not when every goddamn advertisement tried to use it to sell something, somehow that was a viable marketing strategy.

He caught sight of the purple-dyed hair, on the left side of the bar. Some small little neek was trying it on (trying and failing, to be accurate) to gain an iota of the Mox girl’s attention. It was clear as day that she wasn’t giving any either. V had seen his chance, almost immediately pushing the nerdy little man to the side before he’d tapped her gently on the shoulder of her padded leather jacket.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite little Rimbo in Watson.” V joked, Rita turning before almost jumping a little when she saw him. “How you been, Wheeler?”

The Mox gangoon smiled. “Shit, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes. Looking like a discount Johnny Silverhand the more I see you, V.”

“Owch, only a discount Silverhand? You tryin’ to hurt my feelings?”

Rita laughed, leaning against the bar top. “Nah, I could do that in ten different ways that would make you feel more inadequate than the guy to your left. But I know what you can do.”

“Can I guess?”

“You know what, go ahead.”

“You want me to buy you a drink?” V smirked.

The Mox doorwoman had lightly slapped V on the shoulder as she turned to fully lean against the bar, V following along as he stood tall over a good majority of the guys at the bar. Rita had immediately called out to Claire’s male bartending colleague. Two Estrella bottles later, and V had already begun to slowly step a little closer to Rita’s space. She’d make the occasional comment that V was making himself comfortable, whereupon he’d found himself two free drinks deeper into a hounding sense that perhaps he had to be a little more ballsy with how he was going about his methods.

“How about we get a booth? Somewhere a little more private?”

Rita scoffed, taking one of the Silverhand specials before she knocked it back. “Is this you trying to flex this edge-runner rep you got going on now, huh? Seems like you got this Blackhand thing going on.”

“Can’t really be that good of a thing if I can’t get the colour right. Besides, we all know that Silverhand is the real badass.” V snarked; downing his own Silverhand as Johnny proceeded to attempt to send him a hit of dopamine.

_“You are goddamn right, you smooth piece of shit.”_

“You know what? You have definitely changed since you got that fancy new arm.” Rita mentioned, ordering two more beers. “I swear you never were as ballsy before you decided to shed the skin.”

Perhaps Rita was correct in that assessment, but he doubted it himself. The ballsy side of him had only started coming out ever since he’d gotten his arm replaced, and before that, whenever he started hearing the long-dead Rockstar in his head. Silverhand had pressed him to be everything he’d left behind, forge his own path and stop being some corpo dog-body. Even if he was struggling, staying away from Meredith Stout and every source of Militech attachment meant Johnny could actually create a working partnership with his walking flesh-tank. His working for gangoons and fixers was a step in the right direction, and even better that he had a link to his past. Panam and Rogue, one for each of them.

_“V, you wanna kick it up a notch? I could have done this in my sleep. Let’s go! Chop chop!”_

V popped the cap from his bottle when Claire handed the bottles to him and Rita. “You know what, doll, you just haven’t seen enough of me for it to really kick in yet.”

“Oh yeah, maybe you should come round to Lizzie’s a little more like you used to. Show me all this machismo you got going since you got your shiny little toy arm.” Rita shot right back. “Or are you not man enough to walk into a place where you could get your ass kicked by every girl in there, Mox or not?”

“Oh, you think you could kick my ass, that what you’re saying?”

“You guessed it, Silverhand.” Rita chuckled, taking a large swig from the bottle. “Look V, I know what you’re trying to do.”

V stopped leaning against the bar, clicking his neck from left to right. “Is that right, Wheeler? I don’t think you have a clue.”

The Mox placed her beer on the bar top and stood, facing the cyber-soldier. “V, you are transparent as shit.”

“Damn, Rita. Breaking my heart already. I haven’t gotten your number.”

Rita tried to contain her laugh, subsequently trying to hide her smirk. “Remember what I said about silver hands and VIP privileges?”

V looked down at Rita, as the small Mox girl had a wry smirk on her face. Johnny was dancing a jig in his head, which soon turned into a frantic head-banging as soon as V had slid his arm over Rita’s shoulders. He’d readied his wire for a transfer, but when Claire came over, she’d revealed that his tab had already been paid off. Before the pair left, V had turned to Rogue to see her watching with a small smile, coming from somewhere between fascination and familiarity that she had felt many years before.

The two had gotten in the car, with Rita being surprised at the fact that V could actually afford an Outlaw at all. His retentiveness when it came to equipment meant he’d hidden his heavy gear in the trunk like always, and whilst they slowly nudged through the traffic, Rita had decided to take control of the radio. A very slow song came on, a high-pitched voice began to reverb through the car. _Wicked Games by The Weeknd_ had slithered through the speakers, and as Rita began to whisper-sing along to the lyrics, V found himself nodding slowly along to the tempo and beat before he’d parked up.

When they reached the apartment, V had unlocked the door and allowed Rita to enter first. Turning the lights on, she’d been astounded by the homely vibes it gave off. That, and how goddamn expensive it must have been to get an extension as well as the marble floors and animal rugs. She’d kicked off her wedge sneakers almost immediately, shivering as her human feet felt the chilly marble. Her eyes wandered over the apartment, slowly taking in every aspect of the place. The walls were painted a steel grey, certain paintings were foreign in nature, from places far far away from Night City.

An oak bookcase held a litany of novels, manuals and theses. His computer desk was a pale white, pieces of tech and instruction booklets scattered underneath the monitor. His wardrobe was half-empty, but what remained was a small bunch of expensive suit brands. A thick gathering of black, with highlights of red, blue, white, the rare purple and a terrifyingly garish yellow. In her snooping, she’d heard the shuffling of V as he muscled into his armoury-slash-kitchen. The arms storage was empty, minus some large Militech crates that were stacked to the left of the door.

His kitchen was packed with food and drink, fine alcohols like aged wines and bourbons, made for someone that had a finer taste than Rita did. She wasn’t about that life; she never would be. She was a Mox, she had something of a ‘calling’ to defending the working-girls in Watson. There were some real pieces of shit in Night City, and sometimes Rita just needed a night off from all of the drama and dread.

 _“I got my heart right here, baby. I got my scars right here, baby.”_ Rita sang to herself quietly as she opened V’s fridge, causing him to turn around as soon as he had poured himself a glass of whisky. He’d already lit a cigarette too.

Rita stared at the smoking soldier, almost asking permission without any words. “Go for it, I don’t really drink them anyway.”

The doorwoman took three, as V placed his glass and ashtray by the nightstand next to his bed, placed inside a rather large cubbyhole. Rita had followed, placing the bottles on the stand next to his glass. For all of its grace and allure, the place was a still a Megabuilding apartment. There were concessions he had to make. He’d downed the whisky in zero seconds flat before he’d discarded the Samurai vest to the floor.

Rita would have been lying if she had said she had ever seen somebody more cybered up than V was. Synthetic skin grafts coated his body, but underneath all the RealSkin and grafts was a soldier’s body, if not more defined and heavy-set. His beard had grown out significantly, and his hair was slowly begging to stop sticking upwards, but falling back as it grew out more. The more she looked, the larger he looked which doubled as he got closer to her.

She’d taken off her leather jacket, exposing herself even more to him. She wasn’t shy, he had to give her that. The tight jeans that cut such a shapely figure despite Rita being a rather petite woman all in all. As V had approached, he’d teased and lingered near her. His breath was heavy against her neck, and Rita couldn’t help but whine just a little before she grabbed him by the back of his neck and brought him down to her level. She’d licked and bit against the skin of his neck and shoulder, dug her fingers into the skin deep enough that she wanted to pray that she’d draw blood.

Her hands soon fell to his belt, as his hands swiftly removed her ripped shirt off. There was no bra, just a chromed-out bosom that V’s lips fell to almost immediately. She’d gasped and moaned loudly, almost ashamed of the noise that she made. He’d nibble, unafraid to bite before the two found themselves naked. The two had almost fallen onto his bed, but he’d pushed back. His silver prosthesis was freezing against her waist, and she could feel the chill as it deftly slipped under her thighs as he carried her into the shower. Her hands fell to him, gripping and gasping loudly as the two fell victim to the cascade of scorching water.

V had growled, a guttural noise that forced Rita against the wall as he pushed his hair back. His lips crashed against hers, a deep bruising kiss that ended as soon as it began, only to start again before he’d grabbed her by the hair. She whimpered loudly in response, her hands pressed against his chest, nails digging in deeper and deeper to the point where it sounded like he gave a loud groan. He was rigid, as much as she was almost melting away in the heat and passion of the moment. The feeling of his normal hand and his silver one was conflicting. One was filled with heat, an almost impassioned desire for her to just open herself to him.

The silver hand; cold and distant. This version of V, the version that Rita used to know before he’d lost Jackie, is what she was familiar with. The feeling of the frigid metal against her back, her natural dimpled skin was almost infuriatingly arousing. His lips found a sweet spot around the back of her neck and just at the summit of her spine, pressing lightly against her as she shivered at his mere touch. She’d pressed herself against him, desperately, aching for him. The icy-cold feeling of his prosthesis, sliding down her waist and between her legs to set them apart.

She couldn’t bear to not look at him as they both writhed against each other in the hot water, the steam fogging against the glass. Her allure had finally gripped V, as he lifted her up against the wall before he felt himself inside her. The moaning was so risqué, so loud and needing that her grip tightened as she fed her craving, pressing her lips to V as she tightened her grip around him.  
 **-  
** _For someone that seemed to have no attachment when it came to sex, Johnny felt real fucking proud with what he’d done to V._

_He was giving the nomad solo the kick to the balls he needed._

_The dead rockerboy was a smooth criminal, and that was something he told himself every fucking day, regardless of whether he was dead or alive. What he learnt about V was that he was desperate for a connection, but wasn’t stupid enough to think a one-night stand was gonna be enough. Rita Wheeler was just the first step into kicking V’s ass into seeing what Johnny saw._

_That nomad chick, with the caramel skin and dreadlocks that only had eyes for V._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't exactly know what happened when I was writing this. I had an idea of what I wanted to happen with this chapter, and how it turned out was, whilst not what I had in mind, entirely pleasing by the time I had finished it. It's not just Panam and Rogue that need to give V an emotional and psychological lesson in self-worth. Johnny has such a great viewpoint from inside V's head that he can still tell whether V has the issues regarding his view of himself.  
> Hence why Johnny is so pressing for V to find someone that isn't Meredith, so he can stop trying to re-attach himself to the familiar and push himself further into the unknown and take a risk.  
> -Apollo


	25. Eagle Eye

**_16/09/2077  
Megabuilding Ten, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The next few days, for V at least, had been quiet.

He’d taken stock of his situation, in many ways. He’d refrained from fighting, mostly in the need to just recharge from the fighting he’d been doing since he had woken up from his four-day coma after Konpeki. He wasn’t feeling any rejection pains from the silver hand, and Johnny himself had been quiet. It didn’t stop the rockerboy from making the rare appearance, but he offered his input when he found it necessary.

The night after his rendezvous with Rita had been one that he’d spent ‘alone’, mainly because Johnny seemed actually proud of him for once. The Mox doorwoman had been clear with her stance, she was not interested in a relationship. That had gone down like a shot of tequila without the lime, it felt like a kick right in his well-used genitals.

It wasn’t the last time his male ego would be hit, but he could deal with it. Not like he had planned for it to be the last time he’d fucked somebody, but to him, he had bigger issues to deal with.

His first port of call was to go to Viktor’s ripperdoc surgery. Misty had taken him down to see the doc, the two linking their arms together in solidarity as she would occasionally lean her head on his shoulder. It was a gesture of care, at least that was how V had seen it. Misty was nice, probably one of the very few truly nice people that resided in Night City, her as well as Viktor anyway. The kindly ripper had sequestered Dexter in a private room at the back of the surgery.

He’d been unconscious since he had arrived there, from what Misty had reported. Detective Ward, who brought him in, had dipped almost as soon as the man was considered tucked into bed. Since then, nothing but constantly checking on him to make sure he was still alive. The large fixer had gotten much smaller since V had seen him, losing a lot of that ampleness that he had been well-known for.

His eye sockets had been bandaged up, more due to it being uncomfortable when checking an empty eye socket and seeing what was clearly missing. His foot had been swapped out, a cold steel foot that looked extremely out of place considering how human Dex looked without his golden arm or designer clothes. In some patient clothes, wired up, bandaged, he looked about as weak as he was on the street.

It was just proof that Dexter DeShawn was no longer a real player in the game, he hadn’t adapted or changed his style. He was stuck in his ways, and Night City ate him up and spat him out.

He paid Vik for the expenses of keeping Dex tucked away safely. The boxer-turned-ripper had done his usual act, refusing payment for V because that was how he did business with friends, someone he saw as a son. V had slapped down a roll of Eurodollars regardless, mainly because if he had to be extended credit from Vik again, he’d use his deck to fry his own synapses out if he had too.

Misty had smiled, called him kind and selfless. He knew that was a lie, but to her, it may very well not have been. Misty somehow could see the bright side of life, even in her own dark times to make someone else feel better. He’d allowed her to do a tarot card reading, mainly for her own sake. The concept of the actual readings themselves was lost on V, he had no beliefs in higher powers, let alone a deck of cards.

Three cards were drawn, Misty discovering them in quick succession. They had strong energy in them, according to her.

The Sun, turned upright.

The Devil, upright too.

The Justice, turned on the inverse.

She’d explained the concepts of each one, and as much as V had accepted said concepts, he’d rejected them at the same time. Misty had thanked him nonetheless, and he’d left the esoterica soon after. Cards meant nothing, he’d do what he wanted, hell, he’d do the opposite of what the cards said if he wanted to. They weren’t set in stone, nothing ever was. He’d returned to his apartment, sleeping through the day before he woke up again.

Judy had messaged him in the night. Evelyn was awake, she was moving and looking and taking everything in but she wouldn’t say a word according to the techie. V had walked to the Coyote Cojo, taking Jackie’s bike to Kabuki to see for himself. Judy hadn’t exactly lied about her best friend’s condition, nor did she have a reason to. Evelyn was no longer the same joy-doll with wiles that V had met before the heist.

The blue hair and fancy clothes had gone, replaced by large t-shirts, vests or boy shorts from Judy’s own wardrobe. Judy had been the only one allowed to touch her, and that was something that she had said had taken her days to actually get around to proposing to Evelyn. She’d confirm or deny in nods and shakes of the head, unwilling to even consider opening her mouth to speak. How did one even get anything from somebody that mentally broken?

He’d told her he’d find out the truth about what happened to her. He asked if Fingers had touched her too, if Woodman or the Claws had done anything to her, and she had nodded.

It was etched in his mind, a permanent reminder that both Fingers and Woodman would die soon. Maybe not that day, or even in the next week, but they would die. It was only a matter of time before V would see to it himself.

The next two days? Quiet, other than Johnny popping up. They’d smoke, talk, bicker. There was the occasional argument, but nothing serious. They agreed too much with each other for it to get in the way of their plans. They’d drink the days away, and eventually, when V woke up from a two-day bender, he’d felt the aches at the centre of his head pounding like a Cherokee drum in wartime.

He’d been neatly dressed for the day, necking three painkillers as he tucked himself a pair of black sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt. He’d wandered down to the ground floor of the megabuilding. Wilson had been working on a bulk order of ammo and parts, something V had needed ‘just in case’. Jackie’s pistols dangled loosely under his arms as he exited the concrete megastructure and approached the nearest street food vendor. Takahashi (the vendor) had solidified his position as best noodle vendor in the city on days like those. A large portion of ramen noodles to soak up the alcohol as V smothered himself in the early Night City sun.

The floods of vehicles remained in the lanes, only slightly less busy than he had expected, but still a pain none the less. The advertisements had blared, neon holographics glaring from every angle. The hilariously horrendous sounds of the Milfguard advertisements rang in his ears, something V wished he didn’t have to remember before the words were finally lodged in his brain. He doubted a gunshot wound to the skull would ever get rid of that travesty of an advert.

Instead, he’d tried to tune out everything that was going on around him, as impossible as that seemed to be. He’d confined himself to his seat, the black duffel bag of ammo and parts at his feet. V had focused on chowing down on the noodles, but even so, had found himself taking his time with the street food before a fine sight caught his eye. A familiar Mackinaw truck had veered into the nearby parking complex, ablaze with Aldecaldo decals and symbols alongside every other addition to the truck.

V had soon finished the bowl of noodles, washing the food down with a bottle of NiCola before he’d gotten up from his seat. He’d paid Takahashi graciously for the food, picking up the bag and watching as Panam had lingered outside of the Megabuilding. She seemed to stand before the steps inside for a while, tapping her foot against the floor for a bit before she’d folded her arms. Then she’d fiddled with her hair, making sure her dreadlocks were bunched up right before she’d straightened out her jacket. She continued waiting, and eventually, she had turned around to see V watching from the nearby traffic barrier.

She had paced towards him with a fierce look on her face, something that V was all too familiar with considering his first meeting with her in the city. “V, we need to talk. In private, follow me.”

“Woah, hold up. Where’s the ‘good morning, V. How’ve you been?’ What happened?”

Panam had frowned as they crossed the street. “Yeah, I’ll be nice when you don’t ditch me in the apartment of somebody, I don’t know without telling me anything. Just shut up, and follow me. I’ll tell you when we get to the truck.”

V was taken aback slightly, following her into the parking complex. “Well, shit. Wait, how’d you even find me?”

“Rogue. Gave me your address when I asked her. If you have to ask how she knows…”

V sighed. “She already knows everything in the city, including where I live. Great. Guess I need to talk to her about privacy.”

“…Exactly.” Panam had finished off, walking up the ramp with V right behind her. The two had soon approached the truck, which had been helpfully parked next to V’s car. She’d looked over her shoulder for anyone else before she’d pulled V into the space between their personal vehicles. “I need help, specifically, I need your help as a, whatever you are now, edge-runner?”

“Figured as much. Mercenary, is the word.”

“Look, cut the shit. Will you help me or not, please?” Panam had asked, in her delightfully emotional way. “Come on, I said please. I’m being nice like you said.”

V had approached the trunk, ordering his duffel bags. Guns first and foremost, ammo in the middle, clothes and everything else at the back. “Depends, what is the situation you found yourself in that made you desperate for my help?”

Panam had been quiet for a moment, staring at her feet as she continued her process of tapping the floor before she looked back at V. Her skin was flush, her caramel skin looked even darker considering the time she would have spent in the Badlands. She’d opened the passenger side of the Warhorse, tossing her jacket on the seat as the elevate door just chipped against the Outlaw’s paint. V’s eye squinted as soon as the door made contact, approached the contact site before he ran a hand over the chipped paint. He’d scowled at Panam as his hand was splayed against the roof of the hypercar.

The female Aldecaldo seemed hesitant before she looked at V dead in the eyes. “Saul got captured a few days back.”

“That’s it?” V asked, running his hands over his car repeatedly. “Why haven’t you gotten him back yet?”

“Why haven’t we gotten him back yet, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Panam almost raged, as she closed the door of the truck. “We can’t get him back, that’s why! We’d leave the clan vulnerable!”

V shrugged before he locked the car and walked off. “Should have told Saul that before he got captured. I don’t give a shit. I’m going back to my room, to catch some zees. Saul can rot for all I care.”

“V! Hey, why the fuck do you think I came here to get you for?”

The ex-Militech agent turned around, his arms outstretched to his sides. “I don’t fucking know, Panam, what did you want me to do? Did you want me to forget that he kicked me out of the clan, and then decided to wave the fact that Jonah died in my face like it was some fucking joke to me?”

“No! And he was wrong to do that, we both know that!” Panam argued, following the mercenary before she pushed him hard against his chest. “Why are you being a selfish asshole again? This isn’t gonna affect just me, or just Saul! This affects the camp, people who still like you, fuck me, they even love you like a brother, some of them like a son! This affects them too! Me, Mitch, Scorpion, Cassidy, Teddy!”

V didn’t look at her as she spoke, in fact, he’d looked in every direction except hers. He’d looked down at his feet, he’d looked past her, he’d looked at the cars, and he’d ended up glaring at the roof, wishing it would crush him and end the suffering. Browbeating was becoming a common thing in his life, with Rogue treating him like a boy and Panam barging into his life like a Basilisk tank on a battlefield. He couldn’t deal with the castigation; he’d rather have just melted into the floor. The last time he’d seen Panam, they’d been getting along before they went to save Evelyn. Now, back to regularly scheduled programming.

“V? You listening?”

“Yes! I’m listening!” V had shouted, finally turning to look at her, making direct eye contact. “How did Saul get captured, tell me exactly why and how long he’s been gone.”

Panam finally managed to calm down. “He was scouting out new paths around the camp, and he was meant to be looking for new spots to set up, places we could defend better from, far away from the Raffen Shiv. Scorpion was with him, and he barely managed to get back to camp. Said they got found by a raiding party, and Saul pushed him off a cliff to make sure he didn’t get found.”

The solo’s eyebrows popped up. “Huh, what an asshole. Course, Saul would push someone off a cliff.”

“V, really?” Panam quickly lashed out. “Look, Scorpion told us he’d followed the party back to their hideout. It’s an old PetroChem storage facility in the Badlands. I know you don’t like, Saul…”

“That’s a damn understatement.”

Panam groaned. “Look, I get it. You don’t like Saul, I understand it, okay? You hate the guy, and sometimes I do too! But he’s important, we need him because he’s our leader. He’s an asshole and I need you to help me get him. Please, help me out here.”

V stood there for a moment, pondering his decision. In what felt like seconds, he’d made his decision but unlike most jobs, he did think about declining it for reasons of personal pettiness. Saul was an asshole, and V had every reason to leave him in the desert. The Raffens would probably torture him until he bled out and died, but not before he gave the coordinates of the Aldecaldo camp. Then the Raffens would do the same to everyone at camp, kill, maim, torture, rape, the general works that the exiled nomads were good and known for doing. V pushed past Panam, moving towards the car before he turned to her again.

“I’m not doing this for you, or for Saul. I’m doing this for the camp. Let’s go, do you need anything before we get there?”

Panam nodded. “I need something from camp, we can go together. Leave one of the cars at the camp, we’d be better off with one anyway.”

The two nomads had soon gotten into their respective cars. Panam had led the charge out of the city in her Warhorse, the large, armoured truck leading as V’s jet-black Outlaw slid across the road surfacing behind the dusty and beaten-up truck. The drive itself throughout the city was not too bad, more so because he was familiar with the ways in and around Night City. Instead, he was trapped behind Panam’s truck which did not have his car’s ability to slip seamlessly into different trails of traffic. The fact they’d gotten out before night had fallen was a miracle in itself. The trip through the city was in fact, the easiest part of the job.

Getting from the city limits to the Aldecaldo camp, however, was a much more demanding task in and of itself. Panam’s truck was built for the open road, for drifting on the pothole-ridden roads through the deserts. V could feel each hole ripping apart his suspension every time the car hit a hole, which was made even worse when he inevitably had to go off-road in the hypercar.

Potholes could be avoided, sand traps and sudden inclines and declines on a car that had such a low suspension could not be. Eventually, his much-beloved car’s trusty sport suspension had given out when he felt a large bump. Metal sheered and screamed loudly from behind him, and soon the car was going slower and slower until it wasn’t moving at all. He’d been dumped on the side of the road, and when V got out to assess the damage, he’d realised how terrifically fucked the damage was.

Rear-wheel suspension was busted, his rear left tire and axle had been ripped off by the bump and the force exerted by the car. Panam had soon noticed the fact that V was no longer following her, turning back before she saw the car’s injuries too. V was silent, looking at the state of his Outlaw in abject muted misery. She’d soon parked up in front of the car, looking at the accidental damage with a pang of emotional pain. V might not have called himself a nomad, but they both knew the pain of a really bad car malfunction.

“You want to…” Panam began.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” V interrupted, letting out a deep sigh. “Can we drag it to the camp, I’ll fix it there when I get the chance.”

“V, I hate to tell you, but that’s fucked. Even if we dragged it, you’d need help. From us.” Panam explained, V’s eyes remaining fixed to the ruined car. “Still want it to be dragged?”

She had never been so tense around her friend, more so because he hadn’t twitched a single muscle since he’d seen the damage with his own eyes. He’d taken the three duffels out of the trunk, laying them in the truck-bed of the Warhorse as Panam attached a small chain and industrial-strength magnet from her truck to V’s vehicle. Her fellow nomad had been quiet, climbing into the passenger seat as he offered Panam her jacket so he wouldn’t sit on it.

Panam had talked to herself mostly, as they drove down the sandy trails that eventually led them to the Aldecaldo camp. She’d parked up V’s car in a nearby maintenance tent, leaving it there as she detached the chain and magnet and placing them back in the truck. Panam had ventured into the camp, with V remaining on the top of the truck. He started preparing for the operation, setting out a preferred loadout for the actual operation before he took out the Widowmaker, throwing the strap over his shoulder.

He had been expecting Panam to be quick with her gathering of equipment, but in fact, she was not. He waited by the truck, refusing to go near the camp’s entry before somebody got the bright idea to approach him from the camp itself. Mitch, the former panzerboy who also joined NUSA like V, approached quietly as he offered the ex-corpo a cigarette. V had been hesitant but eventually related, taking the nicotine stick and lighting it up.

“So, didn’t think you’d come back again considering the last time you were here,” Mitch muttered, the two former soldiers leaning against the Warhorse. “Did a number on Saul too. Very brave.”

“Good, guy deserved it,” V replied, murmuring the response between inhaling the nicotine.

Mitch laughed, a laugh that seemed hackneyed and rough and coarse. “For what he said to you about your old man? Yeah, he definitely did. Just gotta remember that isn’t always the way to do things.”

V turned to look at Mitch, every augmentation visible and on show as the two lingered in the afternoon son. Mitch’s cybernetic arms were bulky, the veins around his neck sticking out, marks left from being forced to be ripped up, stitched back together and forced onto heavy amounts of combat drugs and ‘Dorph. Yet somehow, he still seemed to be normal or at least living with what happened. He was stuck in a grey jumpsuit, white vest visible as jumpsuit’s arms were tied around his waist. He’d relaxed, leaning back against the truck as he continued with his own cigarette.

“Yeah, well, that isn’t how I do things. My ways work, and it means I don’t have to constantly tolerate pieces of shit.” V grunted after a heavy inhalation. “For example, Saul. What a great leader.”

Mitch shook his head, seeing Panam approaching with her heavy rifle again. “He might be an asshole, V, but he saved Scorpion’s life. Besides, Saul’s tough. Maybe if you rescue his sorry ass, he’ll let you back in.”

V shrugged as he finished the cigarette, flicking the butt away. “That’s wishful thinking, Mitch. You saw what happened in the Mojave that day, he wanted to kick one of us out. It was me or Panam. I’m not joining back if he’s in charge, and he’s too stubborn to go back on his word. I’m staying in En-Cee, ain’t got anything else.”

Mitch placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look, V. You know you’re a Nomad at heart, our blood is your blood and all that shit. Just, you always gotta remember where you came from, okay? Ain’t like we forgot you as soon as you left, Panam sure as shit didn’t.”

The female nomad soon jumped in. “Panam didn’t what, Mitch?”

“didn’t find a sense of humour out on all those raids, apparently.” Mitch deftly slipped away, his hand slipping from V’s shoulder. “Good luck, guys. Safe travels on the way in and on the way back.”

“Yeah, yeah, screw you too, Mitch!”

Mitch flipped her the bird. “Love you too, Panam!”  
**-  
Abandoned PetroChem Storage Facility, The Badlands  
V and Panam  
-  
**Panam had parked the truck away from a nearby cliff face, allowing V and Panam to leer over the cliff and scope out the old facility through the scopes of their rifles. Panam sat a few inches back, due to the size of the Grad Rifle in her grip, whilst V had one hand on the edge of the cliff itself. Panam had been right, and as much as he hated to admit it, but Saul had been right too in a sense.

Killing Nash, blowing up Rocky Ridge and the Tunnel Station had incensed them in some ways. The fact that the Raffen Shiv had started another warband, driving around the nearby settlements and threatening to kill and rape to get some quick resources and a good rush. They’d increased their numbers, especially around Night City. They couldn’t get in, which was a blessing, they were far too noticeable, and the border guards were hesitant about letting Nomads into the City anyway, let alone known outcasts.

V continued his intel-gathering through his scope, a light, sandy-coloured quilt lying over both Panam and V from his kit bag. Good for camouflage, as well as reflecting the sun in a light way. The site itself was quiet, but the number of tents that numbered in the dozen, as well as the number of guards that were present in the day, was daunting. There were at least forty people there, maybe more?

Old PetroChem tanks remained, some collapsed on the side whilst others remained tall over the campsite. The metal was ageing, rusted and withering against the tough sandstorms. They’d be a good distraction, or an exit plan even. Some were located close to the main exits, another close to the main tent set-up. Some high explosives set down, useful in a pinch and it would be a done deal.

Not that V had an intention to use anything loud anyway. He could sneak in and out and be done without a fuss. At the very most, perhaps doing both would favourable for himself as well as the Aldecaldos.

“I don’t see him,” Panam said, worriedly as her rifle moved from left to right in quick succession.

V exhaled, slowing his breathing. “Stop moving your rifle, or they’ll see the glint if they pay attention. Besides, they won’t keep him in the open. Not in the sun, anyway.”

Panam turned to look at V, her rifle leaning up due to her settled bipod. “Oh, and you know this how, oh wise captain?”

“Because he’s not in the open, he’ll be in the main facility, probably basement levels with others, if there are others,” V grunted. “Any other Aldecaldo bands around here, or any other clans like Snake Nation?”

Panam shook her head. “Nope, not one. Saul thought this place would be a good place to regroup, get some supplies before we headed to a Nomad Market. Clearly not, because I haven’t seen this many fucking Raffen in years.”

“Yeah, that’s a given. Would have thought another clan would have been through recently, considering the amount of Raffen that are around. Shit.” V grunted, sliding away from the cliff face before he headed to the truck, parked far away from the cliff. “Come on.”

“What? Where are you going?” Panam asked, her voice exasperated as she took the cover and her rifle. “We can’t leave him.”

V had taken the cover from her, bundling it into his duffel with the rifle before leaping out of the truck-bed. “We aren’t gonna go guns blazing, not with that many people. And we can’t sneak in with the daylight. Saul’s gonna have to tough it out, least until the moon rises. Then we sneak in.”

Panam growled, throwing the Grad into the truck. “Is this your way of getting revenge on Saul?”

“Nope,” V replied quickly, popping the enunciation of his words. “Is there a small wood shack near here, somewhere we can rest before we go in to get the bastard?”

Panam nodded, silent and brooding as she got into the truck. V hauled himself into the passenger seat silently as the Warhorse kicked up dirt as they continued on their way through the desert. As they drove on through the arid landscape and the bumpy wilderness, Panam would occasionally steal the odd glance at her companion, watching as he fiddled with his silver prosthesis. He’d crack his neck, making sickening popping sounds that sent shivers down her spine. Then he’d crack his knuckles, the arm covered in RealSkin would make a sound similar to when he popped his neck, but when he did it to his prosthesis, the metal would crash and bang together.

Whilst they had been at odds since she had told him of the mission, her task to save Saul’s ungrateful ass, she had realised that despite the silence, he had not been outright aggressive or derogatory to her. The talk from Rogue, as well as the little heart-to-heart they had on Charter Hill, seemed to have done a world of good for them. He’d been quiet, which was better than the angry and brutally fatalistic V she had seen after she’d killed Nash.

V wasn’t blind either. On the way to the shack, he’d caught her looking at him for a little too long. The sudden eye contact caught them off-guard, the silence causing interference between their two minds as Panam flashed a small, goofy smile as V returned the expression with a tiny smirk which he soon locked away and concealed.  
**-  
**When the pair of wandering nomads had arrived at the old wooden shack in the middle of the Badlands, V hadn’t been expecting to see it in such a mess. Of course, V might have assumed a little too much that the hideout in the middle of nowhere would be a five-star resort. He had some degree of taste, and V wouldn’t have been caught dead or alive in a rotting shack in the middle of a scorching desert. The truck had been parked at the side of the house, right in front of the collapsed corn silo that looked dangerously close to rolling freely, maybe even over the truck itself.

“That silo hasn’t moved since it fell down, I wouldn’t worry too much.” Panam had reassured, although V was not heartened by her attempts at drawing away from his worries. “I’d be more worried about this house falling down if a sandstorm comes in.”

V grunted as he climbed into the truck-bed, clambering and watching his step as he stood over items and boxes covered in tarps. “If it’s lasted this long, I don’t think it’s gonna collapse any time soon.”

The Night City veteran had soon leapt out of the truck bed, one of Jackie’s pistols in his hand. He regrouped with Panam at the shack’s porch front door, storming through quickly into the darkness before he realised that there was nobody present. Panam remained behind him, a Burya heavy revolver in her tightened grip as they cleared the shack. The furnishings were wearing away, a small couch and footrest remained in the main living room that had connected to a broken, heavily disused kitchen. Panam had found a switch for the lights, which didn’t activate anything. V had chalked it down to the power being off or the fuses being blown. He’d maintained his guard, wandering forward into a small hallway as his Kiroshi visor eventually adjusted to the lack of the light.

The small room to the left of the hallway was a bathroom, the bathtub and toilet covered in grime, muck and various other dried substances that did not look pleasant. The pale ceramic of the sink was covered in aged droplets of blood, the mirror above cracked in its edges. V heard the small click of a lighter, as well as the growing flickering and crackling of a flame from behind him. A small fireplace and a lantern, Panam had managed to create a light source as V continued clearing the house. The final room, the main bedroom was clear too, although there was a heavy sheet of dust settling on every furnishing in the room. The wardrobes, open closet doors, cupboards, nightstands and the bed, smothered in a thick layer of collected dust from what seemed to be years of neglect.

V had stuffed his pistol under his arm, watching as Panam began patting down furniture until she received a heavy cloud of dust to the face. She’d covered her face and nose, not that her actions saved her. She’d coughed loudly, letting out a deafening sneeze before she’d clambered out of the dust-ridden shack. V had followed her out, checking the fuse box to find that the fuses inside had indeed been blown out ages ago. Panam had found herself leaning against the rotting wooden fence on the porch.

“Well, can say for certain that we ain’t got much light, other than the fireplace,” V announced as Panam wafted away any dust particles that seemed to gather near her. “That, and you aren’t a Suzy Homemaker, that’s for sure.”

Panam scoffed at V’s comment. “Yep, because you are so ready for a domestic home life, aren’t you, V?”

“I’d like to think so, actually,” V grumbled, climbing up to the patio before sat on the patio steps. “Well, it ain’t too bad for a temporary shelter. We can wait until nightfall, and then we’ll start on getting Saul free.”

Panam eventually finished cleansing herself of the dust, removing her jacket as she sat next to V, jacket gently folded over her lap. “Thanks, V. For, you know. Helping me out, again.”

V smiled a little before he caught himself and repressed his lips into a straight line. “Don’t mention it. Just another job, ain’t like I can do much now anyway. Evelyn’s not talking and my fixer is probably comatose, so I guess I was late on a few good deeds.”

Panam laughed, almost scoffing as she gained an affronted look from her friend. “You? Good deeds? No way. The V I know doesn’t do good deeds. He broods and grunts and speaks in small sentences.”

V’s hand fell over his heart. “Ouch, didn’t know Panam Palmer had such a way with words when it came to the truth. It seems I have no choice but to defend myself. The Panam Palmer I know just hasn’t changed at all.”

Panam Palmer turned to him; a look of shock clear in her eyes. “That is such bullshit! I have changed, you just won’t admit it because you’re too bull-headed to see that I am a mature member of the Aldecaldos.”

“Mature?” V rolled his eyes. “Okay, Panam ‘I can only express my emotions in swears, shouts and physical violence’ Palmer. Very mature indeed.”

Panam tried to throw a retort right back at V, only to find that she couldn’t. V had stared at her, waiting for a series of words to be thrown at him, hoping they’d be curses to prove his point. She started, and then stopped, only to start and stop again. She’d looked out into the desert for a few moments, and then her sand-blasted boots. She turned to V with a smile, with the warm-hearted solo she knew returning with a smile of his own.

V had let out a few heaving breaths; Panam noticing that his head would occasionally turn to somewhere else for a few seconds as if he glaring intently at someone before he’d soon turn to look back into the sandy wastes of what remained of America. She wished she could hear what he was thinking about, whether it was some memory that was extremely clear and vivid in his head or some old song that he used to sing in whispers when he’d steal Old Jonah’s acoustic guitar.

When he was around, as rare as it was, her thoughts always remained on him. She couldn’t help but compare the man in front of her to the boy that she used to know. His hair was growing out, and his beard even more so, black hair growing over his jawline and chin, his ragged mane of his tickling the summit of his spine. His jeans and shirt were coated in sand from when he was scoping out the old facility. His silver hand would occasionally slip across his forehead, wiping away some of the sweat that was beginning to accumulate from the sun’s violent glare upon the landscape.

Her truck’s air conditioning hadn’t been fixed yet, but Panam was fine with the heat. V lived in a city, that was packed to brim but also cool. The skyscrapers, high rises and megastructures provided coverage from the scorching sun. He’d mentioned working for Militech, being a corpo. Panam couldn’t see it herself, not in the haggard form that he was sitting next to her in. When she first met him, with his shorter hair she could see him wearing the occasional suit. Maybe he wouldn’t wear a tie, or he’d do away with a jacket and find a waistcoat instead. Since she’d seen him last, he’d been more comfortable in body armour with holsters strapped everywhere.

“You know, you never really said much about what happened after you got forced out the clan.” Panam started, V giving out a large groan. “Hey, come on. Ain’t like I’m gonna tell people about your personal shit.”

V nodded a few times, before looking at Panam. “Joined the military, went around America. Three years of service, three years of getting chopped up, doped up, shot and stabbed at in some sandy shitholes without anybody giving a shit if I lived or died. Didn’t care myself, if I’m being honest. The only thing that mattered was my tags, kept me thinking of who I was, where I came from.”

Panam watched silently as he extracted the ball-chain necklace. He handed it to Panam. “How did you get Virgil? I get the McCall, but why not Vincent, or Vance?”

V blinked, wiping his eyes when the sand kicked up. “Found a small book when I was wandering after I left the clan. Had a quote in it that I, I don’t know, felt something towards. It said ‘if I cannot move heaven, then I will raise hell’. I was still going around thinking I had the luxury to kick up as much shit and not worry, because of a quote from some guy named Virgil. The name stuck, hence Virgil McCall. Besides, the army wouldn’t let me in with just V.”

“Assholes.” Panam said, bluntly.

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

V was quiet again, pushing Panam to keep making conversation as the sands died down again. “You know when we on Charter Hill, I didn’t get the chance to say it how I wanted to. I missed you, V.”

The male nomad was quiet, pondering his words before Panam had eventually leant against his shoulder without a word. “I missed you too, Panam. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I thought about you when I left.”

Panam giggled. “That doesn’t surprise me. When aren’t you thinking about me?”

“Woah, don’t go using that as a way to big yourself up now.” V interrupted. “I can recall when we were kids it was always you coming to see me, and not the other way round. You were the older one too, I was the little nerd back then! I had my head stuck under cars and in engines, not, you know, messing around like that.”

The female wandered groaned aloud. “Yeah, that’s probably why you were the best person to hang around with back then. You weren’t hounding me all day.”

“Nope, I only hounded you when you decided to have a massive ‘discussion’ with somebody and then you’d run off and whine for a bit.”

“I didn’t whine!” Panam perked up, laughing again.

V shook his head before he reaffirmed his stance. “No, sorry, you didn’t whine. You did what I would do, you would brood!”

Panam and V would continue their bickering throughout the day. The two nomads would remain camped out on the porch of the shack, throwing the rare jab and barb at the other whilst reminiscing about better times. Panam would have been remiss if she didn’t say she’d missed the feeling of talking to somebody who managed to understand her. V would have said the same, especially in regards to meeting somebody who made him feel as complete as Jackie had done. Panam made him laugh, made him appreciate the freedom that Jackie had always pushed him to take back.

In a few small steps, he felt like he’d started doing just that. When he thought about him, V knew Jackie always wanted what was best. If Jackie were there, V would have no doubts that Jackie would have said she brought the best out of V too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, life got in the way and I was caught up in writing other projects and I somehow got a little burnt out!
> 
> In regards to this chapter, what happens is more of a segue into getting into the Nomad arc, as well as giving V a reason to begin softening up. How this pans out, we'll see in future chapters. There's a small section about names, mostly about why V decided to go with Virgil as his main name and why it isn't the canon 'Vincent' here.
> 
> Virgilius Maro was an ancient Roman poet who modelled his magnum opus 'The Aeneid' after Homer's 'Odyssey' and 'The Iliad'. The Aeneid being about Aeneis as he struggles to reach Italy and fulfil his destiny, something I can see V actually relating to when he's booted out from the clan, and I will continue to impinge on this when I have carved the ending for this out stone.
> 
> Also, Jonah being mentioned here made me realise why he was named Jonah. In the Hebrew Bible, Jonah was chosen by God in the Book of Jonah to travel to Niveneh and warn everyone of God's divine wrath coming down on them. The story itself is about learning to repent and the ability to be forgiven, which is what Jonah sought out by raising V as his own when he couldn't save V's parents after they left San Francisco. This, and there's a moment where he complains about the heat to God, and God basically tells him to shove it. That just made it an even better choice in hindsight.
> 
> -Apollo


	26. Red Sun

**_17/09/2077 – 11:55 PM  
Abandoned PetroChem Facility  
Californian Badlands, Outside Night City  
V and Panam  
_-  
**The trip back from the aged wooden shack had been one that was littered with the occasional silence, with the majority of the conversation of the trip consisting of planning as well as the odd jest and runaway conversation. Panam might have definitely worn her heart on her sleeve, but that was a refreshing change compared to literally anyone in Night City. She didn’t wilt away if she needed help, and she definitely didn’t wilt if she was confronted by her choice words.

Some would have called her confrontational, which definitely would not have been wrong. No, V tended to call it her moxie. She had attitude, and from what he’d discovered recently, a mean right hook.

He surprised himself when he wasn’t cold-clocked by her surprise blows when she finally realised, he was, well, himself.

The truck had once again been parked on the cliff face that leered silently over the main storage facility. V had dug through his kit, finding some good old-fashioned plastic-explosive charges that would serve as neat little distraction when he needed to make a quick getaway. He’d placed them in a small waist bag, sliding it around the small of his back as it was clipped up to the back of his belt. Jackie’s pistols remained under his arms, and the Widowmaker was tucked tight in V’s arms, a small suppressor latched onto the main barrel of the precision rifle.

The pair had snuck out from the truck in the dead of the night, soon finding a small crevice which they managed to sneak down and through to get into the main camp. The cracks and gaps to claw and grasp through got so small that V almost felt suffocated by the rocky walls. The sandy winds and pebbles drifted across his skin, the rocks lightly dabbling against his shoulder and back before they reached the ground.

The surface surrounding them began to rumble and groan, with V suddenly grasping Panam’s shoulder as they stopped. Looking forward through the gap, they could see more heavily armoured trucks and cars coming into the camp. Not the size of a warband, but dangerous enough. They continued in silence, soon reaching the end of the cliff-floor crevice. Panam had peeked around, sneaking and dashing out of sight as they just about managed to go around the main encampment away from the storage facility. V had just managed to squeeze through, following Panam to a small rocky outcrop where they could hide for a moment, to catch a breath and quickly confirm their plans.   
  
V handed Panam two of his explosive charges, keeping two more for himself. She had noted the fuel and chemical silos that had remained strong, but with no doubts still containing some form of explosive component that could be used to their advantage. He’d soon handed her a large suppressor for her heavy rifle, but she grabbed it and pressed it back against V’s chest. She’d smirked, taking the plastic explosives and ducking away into some crevice where V couldn’t see into.

_“Give a girl credit where it’s due, she likes to handle shit herself,” Johnny whispered from the back of his mind._

_“Yeah, makes me worry.”_

_“Here’s a solution. Don’t.”_

V continued on his way, scoping out a large truck that was connected to a fuel trailer near a large gate. They could cut off one way out for the Raffens if necessary, that, as well as a vulnerable spot in the main encampment. He’d prepared the smaller charge, sneaking out from behind the outcrop and into the main encampment before he found a settlement of heavy weaponry, machine guns and heavy rifles. Ammo crates and boxes were aplenty, ready to be exploited.

He took one of his charges and slid it behind a gathering of boxes and crates, filled to the brim with bullets and magazines. The charge was slipped behind the crates, but just in front of a darkened tent. With a satisfying click and the press of a few buttons, the charge was wired and ready to detonate. V had ducked right away into the shadows, slinking away as soon as he sensed a presence approaching. Soon enough, he’d reach a rocky outcrop where he’d remained for a few seconds. More heavy trucks and a gathering of motorcycles had suddenly revved to life, zooming out of the gate once more into the night.

V had activated his holo-cell. “Panam, you there?”

“Yeah, just set my first charge on the main chem silo.” She’d whispered, her camera jutting as she crouch-ran to her nearest source of cover. “What about you?”

V had soon peeked out, rushing behind the main facility. “Just planted one in the camp, moving to the fuel truck now. We’ll regroup by the rocks and then we’ll get inside. Okay?”

“Heard, don’t get caught!”

The holo-call had soon cut out, and V soon tuned out until he heard the sounds of fists beating against flesh and muscle. Ragged, heaving breaths came in hard and fast before more wheezing sounds were made. There were no words, just echoes and dying sounds of violence carrying from the upstairs office out into the empty, desolate desert. A series of hacking coughs, followed by more punches. V continued on his way, sneaking around the building as he could hear a multitude of different voices coming from inside the rusting warehouse building. Some voices were gruff, some slurring whilst some were high-pitched, whining and bitchy.

“We know he’s their leader, at the very least. It’s just a matter of time until Mattock breaks him in two and gets him to spill where the rest of those Aldecaldo fucks are hiding.”

“I can’t wait till we find them, I wanna hear them scream….”

“You heard about what happened to Nash’s crew though, right?” Another voice cut in, much more concerned. “All of them wiped out at Rocky Ridge and the fuel post. Nothing left, Nash got fucked up.”

“Pssh. Probably some guy Nash fucked over in the City, there’s a reason we don’t fuck with guys from En-Cee, they’re on a different level. Some of them, I swear they take pieces of their heads and just forge metal and cyberware in the fun of it.” A whiny voice squeezed out. “Besides, we ain’t fuckin’ Nash. We ain’t bitches. Not like that whore that used to work with him.”

V grumbled under his breath, slinking around the final corner of the facility as he approached the abandoned fuel rig. An eighteen-wheeler rig was rusted, nothing was moving it but the fuel tank itself definitely was new. Probably stolen from PetroChem’s sight on the south side of the city, just away from the Biotechnica bio-farms. Not that any of it mattered, it would end up as a smouldering, smoking wreck within twenty minutes of V setting the charge. He’d slid underneath the trailer, sand and muck covering his light combat gear as he slid the explosive charge right into a small space between the tank itself and the trailer.

As soon as he was done, he’d lingered for a moment as he checked his back and his corners before he snuck back around to the main rocky outcrop. The sounds of a beating remained coming in, thick and fast and unrelenting. He’d moved past, ignoring the sounds of the beating as he reached the small hideaway. His rifle remained ready, steadying the barrel against the outcrop as he saw Panam sneaking around the edge of the main encampment with a small look of worry clear in her face. The rifle in her grip looked heavy, heavy enough for her to struggle with it a slight amount. She’d soon managed to arrive at V’s position, setting her rifle down, the butt of the rifle planted on the ground.

“Those charges are set; you have a detonator?” Panam asked, taking a few deep breaths.

“Yeah, in my pack,” V replied, turning to her with a stern look. “Go to the truck, I’m gonna get Saul.”

“Like hell you are, not without me to cover your ass so you don’t faint like you did last time!” Panam immediately interjected. “I’m going in with you!”

V grabbed her by the neck of her bodysuit, quickly removing his hand when he realised how hard he’d grasped. “Look, it’s gonna be an in-and-out. Get the truck ready, and as soon as the first charge goes off, get in the camp, we get Saul and we’re out. Okay? We need that truck. You can drive it. Now, go!”

“V!”

“Panam, this isn’t up for discussion, it’s a fucking order. If you don’t get the truck, we’ll die before we even get out of the camp gates. Now!”  
  
The female Nomad’s face dropped, only for a moment before she had turned around, taking her rifle before she began clawing her way through the rock crevice that they used to enter the camp itself. Checking his ballistic vest, he’d tightened the straps at the sides as well as the sling for his rifle. Slinking back around the main facility, V had stalked past the fuel rig before scuttling into the building through the half-open cargo bay doors. Shuffling as silently as possible, he’d eavesdropped some more as two of the guards from before began their walk back to the main encampment as the timeline for the guard rotation switched.

Two guards remained one of which had already begun a walk upstairs to the main office where the beating was heard moments ago. Sneaking around the left side of the building, remaining inside the shadows, V had aimed his rifle and let loose a couplet of bullets into the guard that was alone on the ground floor. He’d moved quickly after that, making his way upstairs, catching the other guard with another couplet of bullets to his gut and a Mantis Blade directly into his skull. V had stepped to the side, allowing the body of the Raffen to slip to his side and fall effortlessly down the staircase.

The warehouse-slash-storage facility was ageing terribly. Rust and mould had set in, the vegetation from the desert was slowly beginning to take over the scape of the facility’s land, some of it growing inside the cargo bay itself. There wasn’t much of note around the building, rusted and decaying metal, old cargo, rotting wooden crates that had been deserted for what seemed like decades. The only activity the place had seen was that of the Raffen Shiv groups turning it into a main operating base for their actions and raids in the Badlands.

Something that would soon stop taking place when those charges went off if V had anything to do about it.

The wind started picking up, and V had soon approached a nearby window to see what he had been worrying about for a while. Living in Night City had it’s benefits, and it was that sandstorms didn’t really affect people there if they had a reasonable accommodation. When they hit, he stayed inside and harboured the storm with a cold brandy and a hot meal. The difference being he was now facing the possibility of being in the eye of the storm, surrounded by Raffens with the only shelter being a rickety old shack in the middle of the desert which was hardly a five-star accommodation.

He’d rushed forward, clearing the floor before he reached the door to the main office. The sounds of the beating continued from through the unlocked door, and V would have been remiss if he didn’t wait for a second longer for a good punch before he booted the door in. The hinges came loose, the archaic door falling to the floor in front of a steroid and cyberware-addled Raffen and a tied-up and heavily-beaten Saul Bright.

The Raffen could barely ask “What the fuck?” before he was given some more space in his brain, in the form of two burning shots through his forehead.

The Widowmaker flopped lifelessly against his chest, as Saul slumped his head to look at V with something in his eyes that was akin to incredulity. He’d tried to laugh, or smirk, or grunt something before he seethed in pain. V took his karambit from his belt, cutting the ropes that had Saul tied down. The camp leader was battered, beaten, bruised to the point where the skin was still turning purple, even yellow in some areas.

“V? What…”

The ex-corpo grumbled. “Don’t thank me yet, Bright. The only reason your still alive is because Panam asked for my help.”

The Aldecaldo leader spat a singular laugh, before heaving in a breath. “Why, is that not a surprise?”

“Ask her yourself when we get out of this dump,” V muttered as he took his detonator from his waist pack before he turned on his holo. “Panam, get down here now. Saul’s beaten up real bad. The first charge is going off, now.”

V clicked the handle of the detonator, squeezing it down before the first explosion erupted almost out of nowhere. A massive cacophony of booms, followed by smaller explosions ripped through the camp and almost shook the old storage facility in it’s foundations. The distinctive engine roar of Panam’s warhorse rumbled right over the cliff, just past the roof of the building. The ammo stockpile explosion had sent the Raffen into full disarray, and as V managed to drag Saul down the stairs, the smaller explosions had soon died down.

They were moving too slow, and Saul was beaten too bloody to move fast enough. V took Saul’s arms, linking them around his neck before he hauled the leader of the Night City chapter of Aldecaldos into his back. Extracting one pistol from his underarm holster, and with his detonator in the other, he’d rushed through the cargo bay doors. The Raffens were running around, attempting to put out their fire before another explosion rocked them from the northern cliff face. The chemical silo imploded, collapsing nearly onto the encampment as a flood of toxic chemicals flooded surged across the sand before they were lit up, flames rising.

“V…” Saul whispered, blood dripping onto V’s vest. “Put me down, get out of here. Ain’t…. worth it…”

“Shut the fuck up, Saul. We’re almost out!”

The roar of Panam’s truck rushed forward, the heavily-armoured structure rolling into the base of operations for the Raffen Shiv just as V pressed the detonator for the third time. A fuel silo next to the chemical silo went up in flames, shrapnel and fuel splaying over the base as the fuel burnt on the sand. V opened the back door of the Warhorse, lifting Saul into the back seat of the truck, slamming the door behind him. Climbing into the truck-bed, V had slammed the roof three times as Panam had already shot off as the base continued to go up in flames. With one more squeeze of the detonator, the charge under the fuel rig detonated.

The structure of the rig and the truck flew upwards, collapsing over the main gateway of the storage facility. The warehouse and the Raffen encampment were burning, two bases for the bandits having burnt down as well as one leader being killed off by Panam and V? Things in hindsight seemed to be looking up.

That was until the wind had kicked up once, then twice and then for a third time when the sand began to blast violently against the truck and V as the sandstorm that was vying for supremacy finally arrived. V had ducked behind the main cabin of the truck, the sand bashing against the truck violently before V realised that lingering in the truck bed was not going to end well as the truck almost veered over on a tight turn on a heavy sand trap.

His Gorilla Arm crackled to life, skin retracting back over his wrist as he squinted tightly. His silver arm and his enhanced arm gripped tightly on the roof of the cabin, pulling himself forward in the middle of the superheated sandstorm. He shuffled and crawled, his hands gripped tight to the structure of the truck, the strap of his Widowmaker ripping against his chest as the rifle flew into the midst of a terrifying storm, lost to time.

V continued until he managed to reach a small hatch at the front of the cabin. The male nomad had poked his head over the windscreen, slapping his silver hand against the reinforced glass before Panam had flicked two switches in the roof of the cabin. The seal of the hatch depressurised, and V crawled back as he pulled the hatch open desperately. The wind soon had V in his clutches, and it felt as if he was about to be dragged to hell if he ever let go or just made one mistake. He pushed, lingered on the roof in the eye of the storm as moments passed him by, moments where his grip loosened and he could feel himself slipping away into the nether.

One hand slipped inside, and it was soon caught by a warm hand attempting her very hardest to drag him inside the cabin of the Warhorse. He soon steeled himself, and with one large surge of energy and strength, as well as the leverage from inside the cabin, V had pulled himself to safety. Sealing the cabin hatch above him, V took a deep breath as he wiped away the dust and sand from his eyes. Panam was focused on the driving, yet her hand had not left V’s grip until she was required to have leverage on the steering wheel as she managed to avoid two mini-hurricanes inside the storm itself that threatened to lift the car up from the ground itself.

“Fuck, this is the worst storm I’ve ever seen!” V managed to grunt as he caught his breath back.

“Hasn’t even been the worst one this… month!” Panam growled as she took back control of the car, the sandstorm and wind lightening ever so slightly as they managed to locate the shack. “Shit, make sure you’re ready to grab Saul, we need to get in as quickly as possible!”

“Yeah, pfff, got it!” V sputtered, spitting out a glob of sand as soon as the truck came to a stop behind the house, somewhat sheltered from the wind.

Almost immediately, Panam had rushed to the door behind her. The silo from before had rolled away, torn from the ground by the brutal and aggressive strength of the windstorms. V had circled around, immediately dragging Saul from the compartment of the truck, hauling him on his back as Panam locked the truck. Rushing to the patio, the trio of nomads pushed through the main doorway.

Panam had immediately closed the door behind her, dragging a nearby desk in the living room and placing it against the door. V had struggled, carrying Saul into the main bedroom of the house, lying him down roughly on his side. Panam had soon joined V, looking at V as the two stared at the battered and bruised form of Saul Bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little one, similar to the Evelyn rescue mission. However, it is for a reason, because big Panam/V fluff moments are in the next chapter!  
> -Apollo


	27. Touch and Go

**_17/09/2077 – 2:30 AM  
Abandoned Shack  
Californian Badlands, Outside Night City  
V, Panam and Saul.  
_-  
**Saul had been quiet, almost deathly so when he was checked out by both Panam and V. He couldn’t sleep, that was more because of the pain he was in whenever he moved, something he admitted only seconds after V had managed to lie him down on the bed in the next room. There was very little in the way of medical supplies inside the shack, other than some spare cloths that were lying around as well as a half-empty first-aid kit.

Panam had offered to go out to the truck for her own stuff, she had some gear that could help but V had promptly stopped her from recklessly going out again. The sandstorms and the wind howled, battering against the wood panelling and the set foundations of the home the nomad trio had found themselves settling in. Taking the kit as well as the clean cloths, the duo of Panam and V approached the bed.

Saul had been rolled over again, so V managed to create a small brace for which Saul could lean back against as he and Panam could see to his wounds. No doubt, he looked worse than he actually was. The Raffen weren’t dumb (most of the time), they wanted information from him, they wouldn’t kill him until they got it, or they got bored.

Saul was too stubborn to break, and the pair that rescued him had gotten there just in time before the Raffen Shiv got bored and killed him anyway. They wouldn’t send a warband out into a sandstorm, and they would have had larger issues in dealing with their lack of fuel and a burning campsite, much less than they actually deserved but the operation would do. Shock and awe worked for a reason, it put the Raffen on the back foot whilst the small team of Aldecaldos drove head-first into a storm.

The plan had worked, as dodgy and makeshift as it was.

Now they were stuck inside, with the two able and operational operators working slowly and gently towards helping their injured compatriot.

The ex-corpo must have had some good luck leftover from his days in the Unification Wars, as he went to the sink for some warm water and managed to conjure the lukewarm liquid up as if from the hand of the Gods themselves. A small bowl was placed at the side of the bed, with Panam slowly dabbing away at the muck and dried blood that was coating Saul’s face and body. She’d just managed to extract Saul’s vest from his chest. His body almost looked broken, with precious little parts of his skin being unharmed by the beating and torture he’d suffered at the hands of the Wraiths.

The Wraiths being the Night City equivalent of the Raffen Shiv. They were Raffen Shiv either way, but they had billed themselves as Wraiths in graffiti and the paint jobs that they would bear on their cars and bikes. Them having a penchant for brutality was very much an understatement, as the bloodied vest revealed a battlefield of cuts, light stab wounds and large bruises and boot marks.

V had suffered through worse, but for somebody who was still considering themselves human and with very few cyberware modifications, much like Panam herself. He was the very opposite to V, in many ways. The pallor of his skin was all uniform, the same tanned and dark skin all over. The burning horse skull was inked permanently on his left pectoral muscle, just barely visible underneath the largest slice across his chest. V had soon turned tail from the bed, moving the desk before venturing outside into the blistering, violent winds. For about ten minutes, Panam remained in shock from his sudden departure before her eardrums almost burst.

The door slammed open, the sounds of the ripping wind battering the wooden shack before V dropped a small duffel bag on the floor. In one burst of strength, he’d managed to close the door and place the desk behind it, closing it again until the storm died out, presumably sometime in the morning the more he thought about it. He’d picked the duffel bag up, taking it into the room with Saul and Panam before he extracted a smaller case from inside, black and covered in fine stitching. Carrying it to the bed, V had opened it, revealing a wealth of more medical supplies as well as a set of two large syringes.

“You know what you’re doing with those, V?” Panam muttered quietly, as Saul let out a small wheeze. His left eye was swollen shut, his right eye keeping a vigilant eye on the Raffen at his side. “V, you do know, right?”

The former soldier nodded. “Seen this be used in Alaska before the war ended. Heavy-duty painkiller got it from a friend who operates a military surplus store. Good guy owes me a lot of favours. So, yeah. I think I have a good estimation of how to do this.”

“No….” Saul managed to whisper. “No, ‘Dorph.”

V shook his head as he slipped the syringe into Saul’s wrist. “No, you gonk. It’s not ‘Dorph. If I was gonna get you addicted, I’d give some skeef. At least it would lighten you the fuck up.”

Almost immediately, as soon as he extracted the needle, the wound began to bleed. V had already taken a small sanitary wipe as he pressed and dabbed lightly on the needle’s entry wound. As soon as the blood had stopped oozing as rapidly as it had done, V had soon placed a large plaster over it. Tossing the empty syringe away, V had immediately taken some needles, thread and a set of tweezers. Panam had silently continued wiping away at some heavy blood spots that seemed to have been permanently etched into his skin. She’d watched as V immediately went to set the thread and needle.

“You need any help there, or you gonna perform amateur surgery without a nurse?” Panam asked, twisting the bloody cloth in the water. “Hey, Doctor, you need some assistance there?”

V nodded, handing her the tweezers. “If you can hold these on the other end of each large cut, so I can start suturing then that would be good.”

“Your wish is my command.”

V had looked up at that. “Please, don’t. Let’s just see if he gets out of the woods first.”

Panam rolled her eyes, wordlessly taking the tweezers from V as he sutured up the small cuts on the man’s arms before he finally came to the first largest cut. Deep, looked as if it were days old and it was still open. V took a small bottle of distilled water to clean it out, the water dribbling over the wound before he wiped and dabbed lightly at the edge of the injury with a sterilised wipe. He’d soon gave a curt nod, and Panam had soon squeezed down on the wound. Saul whined, almost mewling in pain as V began suturing the first wound that had torn deep into his shoulder, almost near the arteries in his neck.

V had been slow, ultimately, mostly so the needle didn’t nick any delicate or pinched skin as the tweezers moved back as he advanced as he sewed away at Saul’s skin. His hand had been shaky at first, but he soon found a rhythm as he nodded along slowly as his hands weaved the needle and thread from between the flaps of skin. It took a lot longer than V had assumed it would, but with Panam’s help it had been accomplished quicker than it would have been if he had done it on his own. Tying off the thread and cutting the remainder off, V took a large plaster before covering it heavily with bandages, tying them off before he swapped positions with Panam.

“Shaky hands, V. Nervous?” Panam joked, although her face didn’t look like she was laughing.

“Might have to kick Saul’s ass so he doesn’t die in the middle of the night. Depends.” V grunted before he opened Saul’s remaining eye. “Hey, don’t be a pussy, don’t die out in the night after all this shit. You hear me?”

“Fuck… you…”

“That’s better. Try not to cry.”

V smirked, before he took more distilled water and disinfectant wipes, and pressed them hard into the slice across his chest. “Yeah, that’s it. He’ll be fine until the morning if he doesn’t tear his stitches. The water and wipes should keep it from getting infected as long as Teddy keeps an eye on him at the camp.”

The combination of Panam and V worked out better than before, with Saul’s knife slash across his pectoral and heart being sewn up quicker than the stab wound on his shoulder, bordering his neck. Bandages were wrapped around his chest, tying them off around the other side of his body before Panam continued with attempting to clean up the clan leader. V had thrown the used needles next to the syringe before he held out a small tube of cream, aiming at the swollen eye before he handed it to Panam.

The main bedroom was covered in soot and dust, images in the frames wearing away as each day went by. V had stood up, taking one photograph from the frame. A family, one made up of grandparents, parents and four young children. He’d placed it down soon afterwards, although he’d wiped the dust away in a silent gesture of respect to the former owners of the home. The silver framing had the words inscribed at the bottom: _The Joad Family, 2067._

Panam had continued her work diligently, wiping away the final remnants of dirt and dry blood from Saul’s face. V had wordlessly patted her on the shoulder, nodding to the main living room before she’d given out a poorly-contained yawn. V pulled up a nearby chair, dragging it to Saul’s bedside as he took a new cloth from the side. Submerging it in water, he’d scrubbed hard and fast to scrape away the dirt that was smothering the nomad leader’s skin. He’d looked at V for a few seconds, before he looked away, eventually looking back at the Raffen in front of him as he cleansed the man of the muck.

“Why…” Saul managed to moan out between long, deep wipes of the cloth. For once, he had some time alone with the man he exiled a decade ago. “Why are you helping her?”

V tried to ignore the leader’s words, focusing on scrubbing away before Saul let out a loud gasp. He’d asked the same question again, with V answering him with a sharp glare. “She asked for help. I owe her. That’s all to it. She saved my ass in the tunnel, so I helped her save your ass. It’s paying a debt back. Tomorrow, you’ll be at camp and you won’t have to see me again. It’s for the better.”

Saul turned away, before turning back to V. “I’m… sorry. For what I said about Jonah.”

“Yeah, well, take your apology and stick it. You got what you deserved and more. Nothing more, nothing less.” V grunted, finishing with cleaning the man’s arm and chest. “I wasn’t looking for an apology anyway.”

Saul gave a hard series of coughs, with V watched as the man agonised for a moment. “V. I was… angry, at you and Panam.”

“No shit, asshole. Not her fault she had a sense of humanity, regardless of what I said before I broke that nose of yours.” V growled. “Same goes for what happened ten years back. Almost kicking her out because of a fucking ambush, a mistake. We were kids, Saul. We looked up to you!”

Saul smirked, whereupon V replied in a harsh sneer. “Tells you more about the role of being a leader, they always say you have to make hard choices. Your dad never said anything about exiling his own son. Never said anything about being captured, having to withstand getting beaten and threatened to give up everything about the clan.”

V quirked, his eyes focusing on the wounded patriarch. “What the fuck are you talking about, Saul? My dad died before I was born, the only person I know as a dad was Jonah. Besides, it’s common knowledge that you don’t fucking rat the family out to Raffen Shiv. We all know that.”

“Jonah didn’t lead the Clan though; he was just a spare gun riding with the clan who was handy with cars.” Saul seethed in pain before he continued. “You might call yourself a son of McCall, but you’re ignoring your blood, your family. I remember looking up to your parents when I was eighteen too.”

V's hands clenched together tightly before he whispered. “Saul, be very careful with what you're saying or I will finish what the Wraiths started.”

“Your name is Ricciardo, not McCall, as much as you might hate to admit it. Alexander Ricciardo led the clan before me. Your mother, Jay-Jay, was one of the bravest women I ever knew. She would be, no, they both would have…”

V stood up, immediately pointing a finger in Saul’s face. “You don’t say another fucking word. The less you say, the better. This was a courtesy, I did this for Panam, and the camp. Not you. That’s it. Just go to sleep, rest until morning and don’t wake me up unless you need some right quick.”

The ex-corpo had immediately stood up from his chair, turning foot as he walked into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, he’d witnessed his hair and beard growing more and more every day before he quickly sprayed his face with some cold water, a small comfort, but a comfort none the less. He wiped away the droplets and small streams of water dripping from his face before he walked back into the small living room.

Panam had been lying back on the couch, eyes shut for a while before she finally took notice of V’s return. She’d got up from the small, hole-ridden and brown couch. The small footrest had an unlabelled bottle on it, balanced gently in the centre before the female nomad picked it up, pulling the cork out. Offering the bottle to V, he’d taken it slowly before he circled it under his nose. The smell was, indistinguishable at the very least, and very strong. It seemed like 3 black ‘X’s had been scrawled onto the bottle in black paint.

Effortlessly, he’d taken a small sip from the bottle. Almost immediately, the taste felt like it was burning his tastebuds and tongue as he recoiled from the bottle. Handing it to Panam, he’d wiped away some of the liquid that dribbled slightly on his chin. “What, in the ever-loving shit, is that? Is that ‘shine?”

Panam’s reaction was almost the same as V’s, recoiling at the first taste of the overpowering alcohol. “Yep, definitely. That is some good, strong moonshine. From before the last war too, so it isn’t poison either!”

V shook his head, eyes almost widening as she offered him the bottle again. “There is no way in hell, I’m taking another go of that. That, right there, is hell in a bottle. How’re you even drinking that?”

“Because, V, I am not a pussy.” Panam smiled, laughing as she kicked back on the couch. V had soon joined her, kicking his boots off before he rested them on the footstool. “Damn, being called a pussy got you riled up!”

V grumbled at his being pilloried by Panam. “I am not a pussy. Gimme the damn bottle. I’ll drink you under the table.”

Panam laughed aloud, flicking a match into the fireplace as the fire was restarted. “There is no chance of that, not in a million years. You have no chance of out-drinking me. You can try though, but it won’t be a pretty picture in the morning.”

V shook his head. “As I said, gimme the bottle and let’s find out!”

Panam smirked, dramatically thrusting the bottle forward as V soon took it from her light grasp. The bottle was heavy in his hand, full to the brim other than the light sips that the pair of them had taken since they had opened it. V stomached a pang of regret, before downing an extremely small portion of the moonshine. He’d handed the bottle back to Panam almost immediately, his head sinking into his hands as the liquid burned down his throat. Panam’s laugh was almost maniacal, as V could feel the strength of the alcohol almost cause him to cry involuntarily. He’d swallowed the bitter, metallic aftertaste before he leant back up.

He nodded at Panam, waiting for her to perform the same action as he had just done. Giving a sly wink and a wry smile, she’d followed his lead. She lasted a slight second longer than V had done, shaking her head violently as she chugged down the moonshine. The pair of them tried to resist the temptation to laugh, knowing Saul was trying to sleep in the other room, but they failed spectacularly. The pair of nomads had scooched closer together, settling on the left side of the couch that was closest to the fireplace.

She’d offered him the bottle once more, but V had shaken his head. “No way, if I take a third then I think my liver might melt.”

“Maybe later then?” Panam asked, with V’s eyebrows almost pointed to the sky. “I shall take that look, as a definite yes.”

“Panam, anyone ever told you that you are fuckin’ insane when it comes to drinking?” V groaned, the aftertaste still lingering somehow. “I can still feel it on my tongue, like an after-burn, goddamn!”

Panam giggled. “That’s why you are a big pussy, V. Can’t handle a little bit of liquor.”

V took the bottle from Panam’s grasp, finding the cork on the floor before he squeezed it back in. It would have to be for a later date because the drink itself was going to be considered a lethal weapon in V’s arsenal if he kept going. Placing the bottle at the foot of the couch, he’d begun to settle into his new nest next to Panam. There was a satisfying click at the side of his waist before he managed to lift his small ballistic vest from over his black combat shirt. His boots were on the floor, and his cargos felt loose but still somewhat comfy, despite being coated in sand.

The female nomad had watched him with intrigue as he took off his gear, as Panam had soon unclipped the small strap that attached the holsters that contained Jackie’s pistols. V felt the weight slide away, taking the pistols before he laid them on a small single chair away from the couch. He managed to finally lie back into the couch, releasing a breath that felt like it had been held in for what seemed like months.

“You know what, just buy me a beer when we get the chance,” V muttered; eyes closed as his head fell back against the couch. “Jeez, I could do with a glass of wine right now.”

“Wine? Really? Wine.” Panam almost gasped, head falling back as she devolved into a fit of high-pitched giggles. “Since when Mr V McCall have such a fine and exquisite taste, all of a sudden?”

V turned to look at Panam with a barely-hidden tittering smirk. “Since, I decided that I liked living like a king in Night City. Ain’t nothing like a nice glass of wine and a nice meal at the end of the day. I have taste, an exquisite taste as you said.”

“Oh yeah?” Panam questioned, leaning against the back of the couch as she turned to face V. “And this came from where exactly? Some fancy little dame, or that old output you said you had that one time?”

“Maybe, why? You jealous?” V argued, and for a moment Panam looked taken aback. “No way, oh my! Panam Palmer is jealous of someone she hasn’t even met in person! The scandal!”

Panam stewed for a moment. “What? Why would I ever be jealous of some snooty bitch who hasn’t seen the outside of Corpo Plaza, ain’t nothing to be jealous of!”

“You. Are. Jealous. Jealous!” V had almost announced, he felt like announcing it to the world before he took the bottle from the floor and uncorked it. “This is a deadly weapon. It’s truth serum!”

Panam scrunched up her face, watching in delight as she saw V neck a portion of the bottle before he immediately regretted the decision. He coughed and sputtered and spat violently before Panam had extracted the bottle from his wandering grip. The bottle, in her hand, was even more dangerous. She’d attempted to copy V, a rough go of downing some more moonshine, more than V could take.

That also ended up being a mistake too, with her reaction to the strength as well as the amount being roughly the same as V. She’d coughed, a hard and hacking sound erupting from her throat as she handed the bottle back to V. She soon managed to calm down her reaction, before wiping away any drool that made her look stupid.

Panam smirked, jabbing V in his bicep violently. “The only person that is jealous here, is you.”

V was baffled, before stuttering. “Okay, and how have you fig-fig-figured that one out, Miss Palmer?”

The Warhorse driver placed a hand slowly on V’s arm, slowly snaking it over his shoulder before she whispered in his ear. “You were too much of a pussy, to…”

“Oh, we back to name-calling now?”

“Let me…” She hiccupped, almost slapping his shoulder. “Let me finish. You never asked me on a date, when you were still in the family. You tried to, one time, but you never followed through. That is why, you are a pussy.”

_“Holy shit.” Johnny had suddenly interrupted, ripping through reality violently at the worst possible time. “You never asked her out? She’s calling you out right now, V! She might be contesting against me for the biggest pair of metaphorical balls in Night City, no, all of the New United fuckin States of America!”_

For a lack of better words, V had almost shut down at her choice of words. He’d leant back into his spot on the couch, his silver arm drifting over his face as he wiped up and down, up and down repeatedly. Almost as if by magic, the bottle of moonshine that was in Panam’s hand was then in V’s. Uncorked, and with very little need to hold back, V chugged some more of the bitter, powerful alcohol. Placing the bottle on the floor, he’d soon turned to Panam.

“That is bullshit,” V stated. “I actually, never asked you out. Technically.”

Panam harrumphed. “Oh, you really wanna go by technicalities?”

“I think we can go by every technicality, and you will find that…” It was now V’s turn to hiccup. “I asked you if you wanted to sit with me by the campfire. That was it! You make it sound like I was thoroughly rejected, causing me agonising heartbreak for the rest of my days!”

Panam teased him again, taking off her jacket. V’s eyes wandered, ever so slightly. Her tanned skin, smooth and unmarked. The only noticeable mark was the small smattering of scars on the left side of her hips. The way that her dreads were all bunched up and gathered at the top of her head, almost like a well-kept bun. She was something else, more than beautiful. If V was taking a page from Johnny’s book, she was a jewel of the desert, like the diamond necklace that hung from her inside mirror in the truck.

“You know what, you…” Panam slurred and stuttered before she regained her composure. “You didn’t even let me answer, you got so nervous you ended up rejecting yourself. Hence, you are a pussy.”

V shook his head. “Nope. Incorrect.”

“No way!” Panam interjected. “You’re too much of a little boy to admit it. You… liked me. Go on, say it.”

In response, V had reached down for the bottle of moonshine again. He took a series of small sips instead that time. “I, I will only say it if you admit that it was the same feeling for you.”

Panam’s eyes widened at that response. She took the bottle back, taking a hit. “Ha, you cannot, just, flip the q-question on me like that. That is not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Panam,” V announced, a deadpan smirk on his face. “Besides, it wasn’t fair on you to pull that little fact of me being jealous of not being with you on me. It’s one or the other.”

“Nuh-uh, that isn’t how this works,” Panam argued.

“Yes-uh, this is exactly how it works. At least according to the holy book of V.”

Panam was almost conflicted, and she swore that she could see the same look of conflict on his face too. This was what happened when people drank too much of the hooch, especially the good strong stuff. That’s what her mother had always said, that drunk words were sober thoughts. V had always been kind to her, always looked out for her despite him being two days younger. Regardless, they grew up together. She knew there might have been something there, she just never said it. V was always too busy with everything, having his head stuck in an engine block or a set of computers.

“The holy book of V?” Panam questioned, a small knowing smirk on her face. “And what else does it say about teasing people like the way you are doing right now, Mr ‘I must flip the question so I don’t lose to Panam’ McCall. What else does this holy book of yours say?”

V was tittering almost. “It says ‘don’t answer Panam’s questions until she answers yours first’. Quote unquote. You brought this question on yourself.”

“And so, what would it matter if I said no? What would it matter if I said yeah?” Panam had immediately shot, firing back with question after question. “If I said yeah, IF, what would you do?”

V tried not to look at her. “I don’t know.”

_“Bullshit.”_

Panam poked, and poked, and poked him again. “That is, the biggest lie I think I have ever heard you say. Since when did you become such a prude, hm? V, come on, answer me. V…”

V turned, although he wasn’t exactly what he would have called prepared for when Panam had snuggled even closer. She’d soon turned towards him, both of her legs thrown over his left. He could smell her, the distinct aroma of oil and the lilting tang of honey and sweetness. She’d leered over him almost, consistently poking him in the side of his chest or his neck as she pestered him. She was drunk, but then again, so was he.

He could feel the moonshine affecting him too. “When did you become so desperate for my attention, all of a sudden?”

Panam didn’t lie. “Since the day you pushed me out of the way and got shot for me. When you got exiled for me, when you said to me exactly ‘it’s not a goodbye, it’s a see you later’. That is when.”

V was, as he remembered, quite hesitant to look at Panam as soon as she had said the words. He questioned himself, questioned if he was remembering everything correctly like apparently how Panam remembered it. The scar from the gunshot was still there, partially. He’d said those words too, at least he assumed he did. It was something Jonah would say, whenever they knew somebody had gone missing or had been killed. Goodbyes were permanent, he’d said. There was always a possibility of meeting again somewhere down the line, to see somebody later was a promise in some ways.

He hadn’t said goodbye then, either. He’d looked away for a moment, only to feel a warm hand bring his head back to look at Panam. There was a sadness in her eyes, a glint of a tear that was threatening to fall. He might not have kept an accurate count, but it had been ten years since he had last been that close to her in a way that reminded him of when he was just another scared kid.

He had prepared himself to die in the desert, and he’d never see her again. “That was ten years back…”

“And I waited, ten years, for you. For you to come back, and so everything would be normal again.”

V leaned up, shuffling slightly as Panam adjusted herself, crossing over his lap. His silver hand drew itself against her body, strolling against her legs before cold metal glanced against warm caramel-toned skin. Slowly, Panam had leant in as V’s prosthesis gently snaked around her neck as he brought her close. She’d shivered; V’s face warming slightly as he felt her lips delicately pressed against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooo...  
> This is not where everything starts going all happy-happy, because those tags say slow-burn for a reason. Cyberpunk is not a happy genre either. However, we will get a lot more Panam and V in these next few chapters.   
> Why do you think I destroyed his car's suspension?   
> -Apollo


	28. One for the Road

_Johnny had always been one to make his thoughts known whenever he felt the need to tell them. Hell, V knew that all too well, Johnny couldn’t have been more critical of the kid if he tried._

_Every single time that V had retreated into his shell of being a violent, self-pitying asshole, even resorting to using those drugs to silence Johnny when he thought that maybe, just maybe, Johnny was actually right. No, the goddamn idiot couldn’t take that much of a truth-bomb. Shut him up and fucked his corpo-bag for all she was worth before she had dipped two days later._

_V might have felt satisfied, but when Johnny was silent, all he felt was the violent, repulsive mixture of disgust and the need to wash._

_Damn it, on any other day he would have fucked over a corpo-rat for fun. He wouldn’t have actually fucked one though!_

_It was at that point, that the Johnny Silverhand who had become a tense, egotistical, narcissistic asshole was not the kind of guy who would get onside with somebody like V. No, he had to actually put some effort into getting V on his side, without insulting the man’s intelligence. No, he had to actively dig through the memories and various issues that he had built up like a mound of scar tissue that refused to be removed._

_The rough living of a Nomad, but with a girl he adored and a man who he had seen as his true father in Old McCall. He’d have to ask more about him, open him up a little._

_The worse time of technically being considered Raffen Shiv by the Aldecaldos. Living on the road, with a sore gunshot wound in his gut, his only reliable companion being a motorcycle and a dodgy pistol with some rations. Johnny remembered that life, the life he would have adored if he could have resisted the temptation to ever go to a place like Night City. It was a City of Dreams, as advertised across the world, but for him, it was an American Nightmare instead._

_Place could have not been worse, and when he returned as some poor cyber-puppet seeing things through another man’s eyes, it made him sick. The place was even worse than when he left it._

_V had told him during his four-day rest that people had clamoured for his return, begged for the arrival of a saviour that would bring them from ashes and into a better world. His music used to mean something, now, it was just a reminder of slightly less bad days. The buildings didn’t change, Arasaka’s eyesore of a tower still existed in the centre of Corpo Plaza as if what he had done to stop them meant nothing._

_He was sneering in silence when V was laying down pipe with that bitch from Militech. They weren’t any better than Arasaka, the only difference was they had a smaller dick and a different flag._

_The more he thought about Militech, his thoughts would inevitably drift to the people he worked with, people like Shaitan and Morgan. They weren’t exactly fun to talk to, but at least they shared common interests in fucking Arasaka’s shit up and getting eddies and pleasure out of it. Shaitan went crazy whenever he saw something with the Arasaka logo on, but at least Johnny could get some decent conversation out of Morgan._

_Blackhand might have been one of the best fighters he’d ever seen, never knew when to quit, just like himself. That attack on Arasaka Tower, as well as everything else they had done, it could have been the start of something new. That was what they all believed in, but Johnny needed to watch that tower collapse. He needed to watch the steel and concrete fall, see Saburo’s slope face crumble in horror when he ran back to the land of the rising sun, pissing his pants._

_No, he didn’t even get that._

_He hated to say it, but he was softening, only slightly though. Thoughts of just drinking or fucking around with Kerry and the band, performing for the rush of adrenaline that soon wasn’t enough unless he was waving his gun on stage._

_The constant discussions he’d end up having with either Morgan or Rogue. Granted, he wouldn’t fuck Morgan but he came pretty close to doing Rogue a few times. Shit, he still would if he wasn’t stored inside V’s head. Then again, Rogue was always too smart, always knew what to do when he didn’t. He had to admit it, when she was talking to Santiago whenever he came around, he hated that niggling sense of jealousy._

_And then there was Alt. If he could feel the sensation of tensing his fists and his lungs feeling taut, he would have done so. He’d fucked that up royally, and she might have been a bit of a bitch from time to time, but he’d gotten her killed because he was a real fucking asshole._

_No, he didn’t get her killed. Arasaka killed her, and it hung over him like the Sword of Damocles._

_That fear of seeing someone else dead remained, someone, he knew. So many of his friends, allies, he didn’t know where they were. He was living in a completely different world._

_All he had was V, some random nomad-corpo mix-up that didn’t know whether to run himself into the ground on some pointless solo revenge run or just run away and say ‘fuck it all’. The kid should run away, leave everything behind and get a ripperdoc to just extract whatever Silverhand was and throw it away. There it was, the nihilism, the ever-present feeling of knowing how pointless everything was._

_He was dead, they both knew that. What the fuck was he gonna do, cheerlead?_

_The best thing he’d done so far since he’d dropped out of time and into twenty-seventy-seven was giving V the kick up the ass he needed. Being around people he knew, people that cared about him, people he enjoyed was good. Being around people like Rogue, Kerry, Alt, the lot of them, it was like a terrifying mishap that ended up feeling more like a family than it had any right to. Of course, it ended terribly, but what didn’t in this day and age?_

_He just hoped V could see the signs sooner than Johnny did, and pray that he acted on it.  
_ **-  
 _17/09/2077  
Aldecaldo Camp  
California Badlands, Outside Night City  
V  
_-  
**The morning after the raid and sandstorm had been, well, awkward. Nothing more, nothing less.

V had almost immediately awoken to the thought of Panam’s lips on his, the slow kiss that languished and lingered for what felt like hours but in reality, was mere seconds. She’d made herself comfortable as she sat on his lap, her fingerless gloves removed so he could feel her soft, delicate skin against his cheeks. It was unnatural, so out of place that V’s first thought was that he had been dreaming. His eyes had been closed, sliding shut as soon as he felt her on him.

He'd opened his eyes once, as she remained kissing him, closing them again as he melted into the moment. The moment he’d felt his prosthetic arm wrap around her neck slightly to deepen the kiss before he let her go, and she released him. The two had shared a small smile, both wistful as they pulled away and realised what had happened. Panam hadn’t said much, but she’d gone to sleep soon after, her legs placed over V’s lap as he shuffled away from the nomad woman, falling to sleep with his head on the back of the couch.

They’d woken up at the same time, realising that the storm had finished hours ago and Saul was attempting to walk on his own despite his injuries. V had hauled him up again, with Panam moving the desk and opening the door as V slid Saul into the back of the truck once more. It was the drive back where Panam had decidedly focused on the road ahead and nothing else, and definitely not V or Saul. The ex-soldier would occasionally try and get a small glance from her, but she had her eyes entirely focused on the dusty paths. His hand wrapped around the small rest above his head, his head jolting whenever they would hit a small bump, looking at Panam again only to receive nothing in return.

Saul himself had said very little, more due to his fragile conversations with V as well as his own issues regarding Panam. V wasn’t stupid, she hadn’t been on his side or Saul’s when she dragged him to the camp to save him from burning to death. Then again, the camp was nothing like he remembered, and with Saul as a leader, it was never gonna be the same as it was when his own father had allegedly been the leader.

Saul might have been obscenely, almost stupidly strict, but he wasn’t dictatorial. He just had measures for how things wanted to go, and his methods in regaining control were extreme. V would have not been exiled if he was ever calm in regards to something not happening that he hadn’t planned for.

They had arrived at camp at around the late morning, just at the right time to see everyone up and ready for the day ahead. Chores would need doing, the raiders and scouts would go out again to look for more salvage, food or work. Guard rotations had to have already happened, and the trio had just managed to reach Teddy’s medical tent just as he slipped through the fabric entrance. The old man had been shocked, to see both Panam and V again at the same time, but then to also see Saul as well.

“Oh my!” the old doctor had gasped. “Put him down, any bed will do. Has he been shot, or stabbed?”

“No. Just a heavy beating.” V had grunted, Panam immediately had rushed out of the tent without a word. “Got to him before anything really bad happened, I guess. The worst has been treated, technically.”

Teddy’s grey, bushy eyebrows raised of their own accord. “Technically, you wanna run that one by again, kid?”

V crossed his arms as Teddy immediately began to check Saul over. “I stitched him up, small scars, but three big ones look like they did a lot of damage. Can’t tell if there is internal bleeding, but he’s on a heavy painkiller right now. He tried to walk around before, but other than that, I’ve been carrying him around.”

“Guess those fancy arms aren’t all for show then.” Teddy joked, with V shrugging off the comment with a small huff. “Can take the nomad out of the clan, but never take the clan out of the nomad.”

V shook his head. “Ain’t true, couldn’t be further away from being an Aldecaldo anymore, Teddy.”

Teddy grumbled, waving V out of the tent and back out into the lazy morning sun. The campfire that was in the very middle of the camp, the flames dying out as what remained from the last night’s festivities, with all that remained to be the embers. The closest tents were the medical tent, the large white cloth being pinned down tight by multiple nails and pins. Further away from the fire was the largest tent, the grey fabrics were wider and more expansive, a clue to the residence being that of the clan leader. Every other tent seemed to be similar, small, either beige or white. Sizes vary, but the small canopies and awnings that were attached to the flatbed trucks and the trailers provided the most amount of shade.

Every member of the clan that wandered about had a small hip holster, or a strap over their shoulders, armed with a small pistol or a rifle like everyone else. They were dressed for the weather, unafraid of the burning sun when it was at it’s highest and hottest. The small guard towers were occupied by at least two guards each, with one sniper that was lingered at the highest point of the camp, lingering in the shade provided by the upper cliff-face, providing constant overwatch.

The ex-nomad felt like a foreigner in his own former home, each person recognised him but he couldn’t recognise them other than obvious ones. Teddy, the grumpy old doctor. Cassidy was somewhere on the border of the camp, probably on patrol because V couldn’t spot that awful cowboy hat or that awful handlebar moustache that he always wore on his lip. He’d wandered for a moment, the thought of kicking back on one of the many couches that surrounded the campfire crossed his mind. Panam was nowhere to be seen, but as Teddy held him back it was obvious that in her rush to leave the tent that she had other places to be.

Her truck remained alongside the other armoured cars that belonged to the clan, as well as some other motorcycles that had been sprayed with the sigil of the Aldecaldos. Leaving V there was questionable, at least in his own mind. He ignored the thought of lying on the couch until she arrived, instead, he veered to the edge of the camp that faced the city he had claimed residence in.

The camp was where he was born, it was where he was raised but he never felt more alien to the place or the people in his life. They didn’t bother him, nor did they try to get him to leave. Not that he could, he still hadn’t keyed Jackie’s motorcycle to his auto-drive device, which seemed more and more like a mistake the more he thought about it. He could ride off and figure out what he was going to do next.

_“Could just, you know, fix that car and get out as soon as possible.”_

“Yeah, I wish,” V grunted under his breath as he looked out to Night City. “That thing is gonna take at least two days, maybe three to really get done, even with help.”

_Johnny let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, here’s a little tip, don’t drive a car out in a desert with wheels and a suspension that’s pretty much dry-fucking the road. That’s a tip for life, thought as a nomad you would have known that.”_

“Guess I had the car longer than I thought. That car has been a tough little one. Wouldn’t be surprised if had to get a new one if the transmission or the engines fucked after that little issue.”

_Johnny had shrugged off his compatriot’s last comment, mainly because it was just a self-pitying thing that wouldn’t affect him in the long run. The guy was an ex-corpo that did counter-intel, he had enough money to buy a real car if he ever really needed it, that Herrera Outlaw was just a symbol from a time where V was not the person that he was in that very moment. Johnny had every memory ready to view at his fingertips. He’d done some shit, really bad shit that was almost comparable to what Johnny did at times. Hell, killing as many people as they both had was basically a requirement to survive in Night City._

_His issue was his connection to that corpo-bitch. Meredith Stout, she acted like she was in love with him, acted like she needed to have a wingless bird to nurse back to health so she had a reason to feel good about herself. No, that wasn’t gonna stand. V was not a corpo, and Johnny would not let him fall back into that._

_“You got some missed calls from that corpo girl; I know you can see the notifications but just thought I’d let you know.”_

V had quickly flicked up to his holo-cell on his heads-up display. Meredith had called him three times in the past three days, something akin to what V would have used to call desperation from the frigid operation and asset manager. That was out of place, unusual even. “Thanks for letting me know, Johnny. I… I got to think about some things. Last night…”

_“Was different, but probably the thing you were wishing for since you were some pimply-faced little shit,” Johnny said, soon standing by his side with a cigarette twirling in his fingers. “You caught feelings, and there ain’t nobody to blame for that but yourself. You never stopped either.”_

V turned to the older gentleman (who couldn’t have been further from being a gentleman in the first place) only to see that he was no longer standing by his side. The long-haired and scraggly looking musician-slash-soldier had disappeared in a mere second. He took one last look at the city before he turned foot and approached the vehicles that were parked on the other end of the camp. He felt the sensation to go to the water tanker and use the shower cubicles that were connected, but the thought never felt comfortable. He felt dirty, the sweat clung to his skin like a heavy blanket, made even worse by his ballistic vest and tight combat clothing.

He’d approached Panam’s truck, taking off the protective clothing and the tight combat shirt before he placed it on top of the duffel bags, but underneath the tarp that had protected them from the storm the night prior. The tank-vest he wore felt freeing, although the neck of the fabric was a tinge darker than the rest, mostly from sweat. He still had to get used to the warmth that was always around outside the city.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to wear a suit out in the smothering presence of the sun. Standing on the flatbed, he looked at the nearby mechanic station. Inside the temporary garage, sat his car, leaning down where the back wheel had been sheared off by the nature of the road. Mitch and Scorpion were standing inside, with multiple jacks being placed under the body of the car, slowly raising the car up from the ground.

V had already leapt out of the bed of Panam’s truck, approaching the station as Scorpion slowly began taking the nuts and bolts off from the road tires V used to get around the city at speed. Mitch had already slide himself under the car, the small board as well as the lower half of his torso still visible whilst he remained underneath the car. As V entered, he’d approached Mitch first, kicking is leg softly as the former panzerboy slid out from underneath the car, with Scorpion joining him from around the other side of the car.

“Hey, V.” Mitch said. “Hope you didn’t mind, but uh, obviously we ain’t got much in the terms of money. We thought instead we could at least start fixing up the car for you, make it so you could actually drive out here with this bad boy you got.”

Scorpion had nodded, his blank, bald face looking at Mitch before V. “You saved Saul. It’s kinda obvious that you don’t like him, but we appreciate what you did.”

“Thanks, but…”

“No ifs, or buts.” Mitch immediately interrupted. “You got a reward for helping us, we don’t like being in debt. Besides, you helped Panam too with her issues with Nash. We owe you two times over, and your one of us, whether you like it or not.”

V stared at the ground, shaking his head. “Is there no way of getting out of this?”

“Nah, you got no chance.” Scorpion replied.

V’s face scrunched up before he sighed aloud. The two former soldiers laughed, at least allowing their fellow nomad to join them in fixing his car. After all they, whether V was technically considered Raffen Shiv or not, had seen V as a little brother when he was younger. They were in their mid-forties, V still being in his late twenties so they did provide a sibling type of bond to the younger man. They all had some experience in the military, they were grounded and whilst V hadn’t told them, he might have had an idea of what they went through too during the Unification Wars.

That, and as nomads, they had a job to at least assist each other when they lost a vehicle to some bad crash or an unfortunate and unlucky accident. V might have been a nomad too, but some of that ingenuity and common sense when it came to driving might just have been lost to time. The Badlands required a type of car that would eat sand and rocks for breakfast, and whilst a Herrera Outlaw oozed sophistication and class, it definitely didn’t deal with sand well in his experience.

With Mitch sliding back underneath the hypercar to check and repair the suspension, V and Scorpion had begun to deal with the tyres in a quick, more effective method. They had dealt with the front two tyres almost immediately as if they were racing against each other. By the time that both of them had gotten to the third and final wheel, it was a race to get the most bolts and nuts off and then an even more intense race to get the tyre off.

It was almost childish, but again, V felt a little more comfortable in the presence of people that weren’t either outwardly aggressive or hiding what they wanted from him. Nomads were like that (sometimes with a violently upfront attitude like Panam) because they had nothing left to hide away from. Nomads were already heavily disliked by those who lived in the cities that remained from the Corporate Wars as well as the Unification Wars, there was a reason the Nomad Markets existed for Nomads. They could at least feel safe and relaxed, they could trade, barter and possibly argue with the other clans like Snake Nation, altogether there being the Seven Nations of the nomads that wandered what was left of the United States.

The trio had soon gathered the four-stack of off-road wheels before they had soon slid themselves underneath the car. The added jacks had raised it up enough just so they could change the suspension parts so they could make sure the off-road wheels would it and not grind and break and pop against the wheel arches. It took a long time, mainly because replacing suspension was difficult in and of itself, and not because of the actual process. Removing bolts connected to the upper and lower control mounts, and then swapping out the shocks was easy enough.

It was the fact that the Herrera Outlaw, especially the GTS was the fact that the car was not designed to be fixed or changed without a dedicated Herrera repair team. For most of the day, V had remained with Scorpion and Mitch. Fixing the suspension, and then adding a lift kit to the bottom of the car had ended up taking a majority of the day. In the shade of the tent as well as the car, the day seemed to speed past like it was nothing.

Cars would come and go, and reminders and jokes of better times were shared between the trio of soldiers as they dedicated their work to the hypercar that was slowly being suited to rough rides and real battles. At around five in the afternoon, the three ex-troopers had finally finished fixing and testing the suspension. They’d ended up attaching two rows of industrial lights on the grill and the roof of the car, as well as a large bulbar on the front bumper of the car.

By the end of the working day, V, Mitch and Scorpion were sat out by the small cantina that was operating out of one of the four flatbeds. Under the large awning, the trio sat in the shade with beers in their hand, finally relaxing after a long and tedious day.

“You ever think Saul would let you back, V?” Scorpion asked, immediately sipping on his cold beer after asking the question.

V shook his head, although he had contemplated the thought. “Nah, Saul is…”

“Saul is Saul.” Mitch interrupted, laughing quietly to himself.

“Pretty much what Mitch said,” V replied. “Saul is too stubborn to let me back in, even if I saved his life. Besides, it wasn’t just me. Panam helped too.”

Scorpion nodded. “That’s close enough for a reason to not let you in. You agreed, shit, you helped Panam. Those two have been going for each other ever since you left. She took it a lot more personal than you think, having you take her exile for her.”

“McCall too, but he kept to himself when you left. Don’t think I’d seen Saul or Panam more broken up when the old man died, not since Panam’s mother died.” Mitch added.

V was silent, allowing the two panzerboys to let loose, their younger friend taking all the information in. “She never told me about her mother. I think Maya might have been the closest thing I had to a mother. I can’t even start on how much she looked after me when I was a kid.”

“I think that might be what got Old Jonah in the end, you know?” Mitch pondered aloud. “When Maya went, he barely left his tent unless it was to work. He’d eat, work and sleep. Panam would see him, but I think it was because he was really, she had left too. That, and then the dust storms, maybe he just gave up.”

V shook his head, the two tank drivers turning to him. “Nah, Jonah wasn’t the type to give up. He’d complain sure, he wouldn’t give up though. How old was he, when he passed?”

“Seventy-seven.”

“There you go.” V finished, summarily closing the discussion. “He was old, he just had a shit hand before he went, least that is how I see it considering I wasn’t even here. He wouldn’t give up.”

The two panzerboys were quiet as V had decided to quickly and precisely explain how he could have seen Old Jonah going out. He’d have gone out on his own terms, whether it be from grief, the dust storms or old age. If he wanted to live another day, he would live that day just to spite whatever force yearned to keep him from living that one extra day. It reminded him too much of Jonah when he was younger when V was younger too. He’d trained V to shoot a pistol and a rifle, showed him the way around and inside a car, how to drive, how to fix one if it needed a quick fix or a real repair.

That was when Old Jonah wasn’t known as that. He was just Jonah or just McCall. This old, grumpy and serious man, with a side of wit and caustic rebuffs when he needed them to most. He’d always have that revolver at his side, and the even-older repeater rifle nearby if things got hairy. When V got a little too snippy or biting, he’d soon have a light smack on the back of the neck or the head from the man to let him close his mouth and stop talking.

He missed the abrasiveness of Jonah, the gentle nature of Mrs Palmer.

“Jonah wouldn’t have ever taken some of Saul’s shit, I can tell you that now,” Scorpion muttered to nobody in particular. “Shit, Panam’s the only one that ever said anything about what’s happening now with Biotechnica anyway. If she didn’t say anything, shit, ever since he started talking with the guys from PetroChem about selling out for security, she hasn’t stopped arguing.”

V stirred in his chair. “What’s that? Something about PetroChem?”

Mitch sighed, swirling the beer bottle in his hand before he downed what was left. “Since we lost a good group of guys up on Granite Pass, Saul started talking to some reps from PetroChem about settling down in Night City so we didn’t have to worry about Wraiths and the other Raffen Shiv.”

V leaned back in his plastic chair, the cold bottle of beer remaining tight in his grasp. His eyes had stopped shifting all around the camp but instead were finally dead-set as he looked at the medical tent. He took a few more small sips from the beer bottle as he tried to conceptualise what else he could possibly say to Saul to make him know how much a piece of shit he was, and how he just wasn’t meant to be a leader. Did V’s real father choose Saul to lead the clan in the event of his death? If he did, all V knew about Alexander Ricciardo was that he was an awful judge of character?

The whole point of being a part of the Nomad Nations was that they didn’t belong to any country, town or city. They belonged to the clan, whether they were Snakes, Joads, Aldecaldos or Metas or any other clan. They belonged to the road, and the clan was family. To betray what a nation stood for, was a quick way of being punished, exiled and declared Raffen Shiv to everyone else. It wasn’t just a mark of exile, but a mark of shame. V was shamed, but he would never sell out the clan to a corporation. He had the real Aldecaldo blood in him, more blood relation than Saul could ever hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of both perspectives from this chapter but didn't mean to take so long but again, sometimes life and other projects get in the way as well as some rough burn-out. Sorry about the wait!  
> -Apollo


	29. Blind Leading The Blind

**_21/09/2077  
Aldecaldo Camp  
California Badlands, Outside of Night City  
V  
_-  
**The next few days had been quiet, the type of silence that was natural and could remain unbroken for what felt like days. V had taken a bit more time to acclimatise to the desert weather than he thought, but when he would toil under the leering afternoon sun and work through the camp chores, the tight grip of the sun loosened as he spent more time out from under the shade. He’d lost his ballistic vest and combat shirt, replacing it with a simple fabric vest as he moved his belongings back into the Outlaw.

The ex-nomad had soon rectified himself somewhat, seeing himself more and more as what he was meant to be the longer he was at camp. Hard-working, loyal and earnest, he’d have a small breakfast almost as soon as he woke up. As soon as he was full, he’d immediately go and do his chores, finishing just around the early afternoon. Panam had not returned since they had arrived at the camp, leaving V somewhat lost as to what he would do when he thought about the bleak idea that she might have gotten caught by the Raffen Shiv.

Mitch had assuaged V’s fear for her well-being relatively quickly. She was deadly on her own, and she knew well enough how to take care of herself. She wasn’t known as one of the Aldecaldos best scouts or raiders for nothing. The heavy rifle she would carry packed a punch, and she was a quick draw when she needed to be. According to the ex-panzerboy, Jonah had taught her a few things too.

Once again, his fears had been assuaged when she’d called Scorpion on the second day of her departure that she was fine, she was residing in Night City for a while. V had been somewhat suspicious at the wording of her predicament but had refused to question her on it. The odds were high that if he did, he’d probably earn an emotional shouting match from her over the holo.

He'd rather avoid that at all costs. He could win a physical fight, but an emotional and verbal fight with Panam Palmer of all people? If anything, it was a guaranteed loss.

By the end of the third day at the camp, he’d spent even more of his time with Mitch and Scorpion. They had decided that the Herrera Outlaw GTS was still not exactly ready for total desert travel, as if V had planned to consistently driving around on rocky surfaces, junk and sand. They’d gone deep into working on altering the body of the car itself. V had argued vehemently for Scorpion to not spray tag the hood with the sigil of the clan (mostly for safety reasons), but had not argued against the extra armour plating. The doors, hood and the rest of the body had been layered with a lighter compound metal that was similar to Panam’s own Warhorse. Like they had done as they were fixing the car when he had arrived for the second time, they spent their day welding, ripping and plying away at the hypercar.

That same day had V fall into the night where he had finally joined the evening circle around the campfire. A cold beer bottle in his hand as he sat next to Mitch and Scorpion as a younger musician had plucked joyously away at his acoustic guitar. V smiled; the sounds of the song being played reminding him of Jonah’s almost prodigious skill at playing the guitar himself. He’d bring back classics, and if he was feeling nice, he’d occasionally cover a song that V knew. ‘Black Dog’ by Samurai was often one that the former clan heir would enjoy whenever the old mechanic decided to indulge his adoptive son.

They’d stayed up for most of the night, going to bed early in the morning as he inevitably forsook the uncomfortable bedroll on the ground as he found himself drinking himself to sleep inside Panam’s tent. He found some semblance of rest on her bed, lying on top of the covers until the late morning when he’d been resurrected from his sleep by Cassidy. The pillows and the bedding smelled of her, something equivalent to vanilla and coconut shampoo or deodorant. He’d almost rolled up on the floor before the elderly gunslinger had caught his arm and stopped him.

“Come on, kiddo.” Cassidy beckoned, hauling V up. “I know you got a bleeding heart for the girl, but now ain’t the time to be laying around. Camp patrol calls.”

“Yeah, call me up in an hour or so.”

Cassidy hauled his repeating rifle from his shoulder, the butt of the rifle nudging V in the back with more force than the last. “No chance, V. Time to get your ass up, you can get some chow as soon as we do the patrol.”

V yawned. “Yeah, yeah, roger that, old man.”  
 **-  
** The patrol around the camp had been anything but what V wanted (to a certain extent), that was to say, uneventful. The desert surrounding the camp, as visible from the small sniper’s nest, had been devoid of any life. V knew Cassidy was going to haul his ass out to the border of the camp anyway, and so the two-hour repeated trek of the camp happened anyway. The old gunslinger had handed the ex-corpo his old repeater rifle, as well as his bandolier for the temporary time in which V was carrying the Marlin 1894. V had wrapped the rifle strap around his hand, securing it in his grip whenever he had to look down the scope.

Those two hours passed, without any sense of good pace or respect for V’s time. When the rotation was due, V and Cassidy barely got there in time for the next patrol as the old guard decided to make V scope out something far away that he thought he saw move. In actuality had been nothing at all, but the old man wanted to be sure when he gave his report to the next patrol.

The duo of patrolmen had soon entered the camp as soon as Rollins and DeFalco had left for their own patrol. V had handed the old rifle to Cassidy as they approached the cantina-van. Cassidy had settled for some dry toast, whilst V had ordered the most he could. Scrambled eggs, bacon that wasn’t cooked to a crisp with some mushrooms and beans, the juices mixing together in unholy matrimony. With a small bottle of water at the side of the plate, the old man watched with a face filled with intrigue yet disgust as V shovelled food into his mouth as soon as possible.

“You ain’t gonna, I dunno, slow down and eat that are ya?” Cassidy scoffed as he took his mug of coffee and took a sip. “Enjoy the damn food, V. Ain’t no one rushing you.”

V grunted half-heartedly as he seemed to hoover up the mushrooms in droves. “I… know. This is me, enjoying food.”

“That what they teach you in the military, huh?” Cassidy asked. “Mitch and Scorp’ were eating like that for months. Shit, Scorpion is still prone to doing it still. Can’t be eating for longer than five minutes.”

“That’s what they do for panzerboys, Cass. Drug ‘em up for constant service, send them off. Those guys probably ate the shit out of whatever they could get their hands on. I know I did, whenever I got the chance.”

Cassidy had nodded slowly, toast crunching in his mouth. “They treat you boys like animals, huh?”

“Worse.”

“I can see why. Mitch and Scorpion didn’t take well to normal living when they came back. Screaming in the night, real bad sweats, withdrawal,” Cassidy said, with V nodding as he managed to refrain from swallowing the rest of his food whole. “The drugs they gave those boys, man, I didn’t think they’d ever be the same.”

V had taken his knife and fork, slowly cutting into what remained of his bacon and eggs. “Nobody comes out of the NUSA army the same, especially not with what we saw through the Unification.”

“Of that, I have no doubts,” Cassidy muttered, finishing his first slice of toast. He always took his time. “You ain’t the same now either, V. I can see it in the eyes, the face. Shit, you ain’t exactly inconspicuous with that silver arm of yours now.”

The younger nomad stopped, his arm raised up and down as he scanned the camp. The tents, trailers, bikes and cars, people he knew and didn’t know. “Life isn’t fair, never has been. I made my choice; I did this to myself. Some stuff I’m proud of, some I’m not. That’s just, I don’t know, that’s just how it is.”

Cassidy smothered a laugh as he put his mug down. “I don’t think that’s entirely true. In some cases, it might be. You did it so somebody else didn’t have to deal with what you did. Panam, I mean.”

V had soon hovered over his plate once more, rushing through his food before the plate was empty and all that was left were the crusts from Cassidy’s toast. The two nomads sat across from each other, occasionally taking a large sip from their coffee or their water bottle. V found his fingers wriggling of their own volition, forcing them into a fist as he felt the semblance of a phantom limb in place of his silver arm.

“You did it for her,” Cassidy grunted as if it were the honest truth. “Can you imagine that girl doing what you did? I know we all ain’t exactly spectacularly happy with that fancy shit you got like that arm and whatever else you got, but that girl. She’s got a wild spirit; she’d refuse to let that happen at all.”

“Good for her that I took one for the team then, isn’t it?” V asked, before letting out a sigh. “Ain’t happy with what I am now, Cass, but if the choice of life is to live with an arm made of wires and metal or to live like an invalid, well, it isn’t a choice at all.”

The old gunman understood that well enough, as he nodded. “If we asked you to come back if some of us talked to Saul, would you have to make a choice between us and the city? Family, or what you made here?”

“That’s complicated, Cassidy. Life isn’t always one or the other, least for me.”

Cassidy shook his head. “Ain’t complicated at all, kid. Not this one, not at all. You might think you hard shit hard, but you ain’t lived through a corporate war, let alone four like me. It’s a simple question. Stay in the shithole that is Night City, or you join back with us and start taking back what you lost when you made that choice to leave?”

“At the moment…”

“V, don’t dodge the easiest question I’d ever ask somebody who was in the family. Stay or come back?”

V grumbled. “I don’t know, Cass. Okay? I don’t know! Saul has a problem with the fact that I am somehow responsible for being his living fucking nightmare, being born to somebody he idolised but never met the expectations of. The girl I loved when I was a kid is completely different to who I used to know in more than a few ways, and I look like a fuckin’ half-cyborg mass-murdering killing machine!”

“V, calm down. You’re getting aggravated, and I ain’t trying to get you like that.”

“Bullshit!” V called out, leaning towards Cassidy. “You know shit isn’t ever this easy when it comes to Night City, or coming back. Saul still says I’m Raffen, so I guess that’s what I am. Yeah, you see me doing shit around the camp, working, laughing, but you know how I feel? Alien. I don’t belong, because this fucking city is pulling me in because I need to finish something I should have done as soon as humanly possible.”

The old man had kept his eyes locked on the larger, significantly younger male nomad. As an old gunslinger, Cassidy Banks had seen a lot of shit, but to see the young boy he knew getting more and more enraged because of a simple question made him worry if only a little. He’d been to Night City on his own, always had a habit of occasionally visiting despite the reputation. It had something about it, an invisible gathering of tentacles that would drag him back into the city whenever he tried to leave. Much like it happened to Cassidy in his younger days, it had happened to V. Meat hooks had sunk deep into his skin, peeling back and hauling the former corporate worker back into the concrete jungle and skyscraper mazes.

Cassidy stood up, taking the rifle strap from over his shoulder before he gently placed it on the table. The Marlin 1894 repeater rifle was pushed towards the younger soldier as Cassidy necked the rest of his coffee. The cherry-red leather bandolier found itself lying lifelessly across the barrel of the rifle, with Cassidy who remained standing as he gave V the iciest glare that he could possibly muster.

“Then you take that rifle, and sort that shit out like we taught you to,” Cass growled, his wrinkled jowls drooping noticeably. “Don’t take any shit, and get what you got in your system, out of it. Pronto.”

Cassidy was by no means intimidating, not to V in any way, or probably anybody at his age. His aforementioned drooping jowls, a skinny figure that was overshadowed by baggy blue jeans and the grey chequered shirt and vest. His wrinkles gave away his age, as much as his greying hair and wispy little beard and eyebrows. His eyes were a homely dark brown, but there was a sense of deadness that was visible in those eyes. He’d stepped away before V could contemplate or consider an answer, tightening his gun belt that rested loosely around his waist as he went to rest in his tent, out of the sun’s glare.

V took the rifle and the bandolier, throwing both over his shoulder as he checked his holo. He’d spent too much time doing nothing, other than pretending to be an Aldecaldo again. Vik had called him, twice by the look of it which he’d missed in favour of working his ass off in the scorching sunlight. He’d checked his messages and found one from Misty that had revealed that Dex was now awake.

V hadn’t rushed but instead paced over to the border of the camp, where all of the vehicles were parked up. A small gathering of younger scouts were discussing plans about new hotspots for gear and loot, or new camp locations. They’d called over to V, but the older soldier ignored them as he approached his renovated Outlaw. Scorpion was leaning over the hood of his car, a can of spray paint in his hand before V rushed over. Just as Scorpion looked to spray the jet-black pearlescent paint job, V had ripped the white can out of his hand.

“What did I say about not putting any Aldecaldo decals on the car, Scorp?”

Scorpion’s chuckle was weary. “Ha, this wasn’t my idea either, V. Gonna have to call for Mitch on that.”

“Yeah, well,” V struggled for a moment as he observed the new white racing stripes on the car, from the hood of the car to the trunk before he threw the can to the former tank driver. “tell Mitch when I come back I’m gonna kick his ass for putting you up to this.”

Scorpion laughed as V crawled into his Aldecaldo-modded Outlaw. Scorpion stood to the side of the mechanical station, both middle fingers directed at V and his car as he drove off, V giving the fellow ex-soldier his own middle finger as the car drove out into the deserts. The new suspension, wheels and lift-kit had immediately made the difference to the hypercar. In terms of losing some speed, he’d gained the ability to finally drive outside the city in his best car. The various bumps, sand traps and potholes and rocky roads were nothing to the modified car he now had.

Rocketing across the badlands and away from the camp, V had quickly pinged both Vik and Misty, alerting them that he would soon be back in the city to speak to Dex. Vik didn’t reply immediately, either due to business or being unable to operate his self-admitted out-of-date holo-cell model. As he finally reached the end of the desert tracks, he’d drifted onto the road and approached the border gate of the luminous city.  
 **-  
 _Misty’s Esoterica & Vik’s Ripperdoc Surgery_  
Night City, Watson District  
-  
**The drive from the edge of the city and through the streets of the Pacifica district had been inane, almost painful to some extents. Whilst the outer city districts had fewer traffic issues both on the ground and in the air, the biggest issue replacing it was the state of the streets and who inhabited them. Sixers, the odd Valentino off-shoot as well as the steroid-addicted Animals. The Pacifica however, was something completely different.

Burnt out car wrecks littered the roads as well as the sidewalk, the people living in the squalor of the abandoned entertainment district looked worse off than those that lived on the streets in Watson or even Santo Domingo. Gangs of armed Haitian immigrants patrolled the alleys, streets and the roads, an almost heavily-weaponised militia force that controlled the entire district. V’s cyberdeck could barely scratch the surface of how scuffed the general electrical grid or the technological layout of the place was.

He’d seen a few looks directed his way, stern, angry, eyes filled with ideas of ill-intent and harm to him and no other. He’d kicked the car into gear and shot out of the ruined developmental district, the Outlaw using what was left of it’s impressive speed from the engine to get V out and into the city that he was much more well-acquainted with. He’d managed to dodge or force his way through traffic until he reached his apartment complex and parking lot. Parking next to Jackie’s bike, he’d immediately locked up the Outlaw before he got on his best friend’s Nazare bike. Tightening the strap of his rifle, he’d key-logged the bike to his auto-drive device before he sped off through the alleys on the bike with accuracy and precision before he finally (and gracefully) drifted in front of the Esoterica.

He’d kept the rifle on him, as well as both of Jackie’s pistols on his waist as he entered. The small bell on the top of the door rang out, and the smell of various incense candles flooded and surged to his nose. Almost immediately, Misty had perked up from her little spot by the nearby receptionist area which she occupied diligently. She’d quickly rushed out to V, gripping him tightly in a hug which he did not expect.

“V, it’s so good to see you again.”

The nomad reciprocated, despite the unexpected nature of the contact. “Yeah, you too Misty. Is Mama Welles being a little more, I dunno, is she being a bit nicer now with you?”

“Yeah, she offered to have me for dinner later this week,” Misty admitted with a sad smile. “It’s weird, but whatever you said to her at Jackie’s _ofrenda,_ well, she took it to heart. Thanks, for helping with that, V.”

“No problem, Misty. Anything for you guys as long as it helps.” V replied, a hesitant smirk on his face as he patted her on the shoulder. “You said that Dex was awake? How is he?”

Misty’s grin fell away. “Not good, V. He’s awake and he’s not too out of it but he’s got an infection, where he lost his hand and foot. Vik said something like it was gangrenous. He had me take some blood and he’d been dosed with blood-blockers, even Vik hadn’t even seen them. Who did you say had him?”

V grimaced as Misty took him through the back of the esoterica and into the illicit surgery centre. “Sixers, but they were back by Arasaka. I can’t say nothing else unless it puts you guys in danger.”

“Well, it’s too… out there, to be the Sixers,” Misty said as they hurried down the steps. Turning into the main room, they caught Vik just as he had finished washing his hands of blood and fleshy leftovers.

The room for once seemed to be brightly lit. The main chair in the centre of the room and closest to Vik’s desk was recently cleaned and wiped down, with the surgeon himself keeping to his own rules and hygiene standards. Given the dirty and illegal nature of being a Ripperdoc, he had a reputation to upkeep, especially considering he was one of the best ripperdocs in Night City, if not the country. The husband-and-wife team of Ripperdocs at camp, Billy and Becca, had nowhere near the skill that Vik had despite it being an unfair comparison. They were always on the move, working on spare parts or whatever good bits of cyberware the other nomads could bring them.

Compared to Viktor Vector of all people, anyone would look inferior when it came to the ripperdoc game. The tall, bulky boxer-turned-ripper had smiled when he saw V, open arms letting V in without a doubt. Even with his cybernetic legs, Vik was still taller than V somehow.

“Last time I seen you, you’d been looking like you couldn’t handle the alcohol at the Coyote, let alone anywhere else.” Vik smiled, clasping V tight in his grasp with Misty watching before going to attend to Dex again. “How you been, kid?”

“As good as I can be. Been doing some work with the Aldecaldos outside the city, and some stuff for Rogue. Ain’t nothing big.” V admitted, with Vik’s eyes focusing as soon as he mentioned Rogue.

“Rogue, huh?” Vik questioned. “Yeah, last time I checked she was the biggest fixer in the city. Ain’t nothing big doesn’t exactly cut the mustard there, V.”

“Small jobs for her, but I think I’m in the good books if you want to be specific.”

Vik’s patted V on the shoulder, his hand lingered on the soldier’s shoulder. “It’s what Jackie would have wanted for you, he’d be proud if he was still here, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

The duo soon walked over to the isolation room at the back of the surgery. The door whizzing open automatically as the doctor and the mercenary entered. Dex was looking a little better, leaning up in front of a mountain of pillows and a state-of-the-art patient’s bed. Misty had pressed a few buttons, causing the bed to rise up even more so V could get a proper look at his former fixer.

His dark skin was not as pale as it was when he first found him at the Sixer compound, but the bandages that covered the missing hand and missing foot were the most obvious features. Other than that, the various bruises that couldn’t be hidden by a patient gown as they turned from purple to a dark yellow. He’d lost his ampleness that he’d been known for, especially when V first laid eyes on Dex in his car, how large and encompassing he was that V felt small, literally and metaphorically. On the bed, he was smaller, frail and noticeably thinner although the IV drip and meals had gotten him to a healthier weight.

His eyes, however, remained absent. In their stead, a set of white bandages that encompassed his head from his eyes up. All that V could see was the bottom half of his head and a portion of his ears that hadn’t been sliced away by whoever had tortured the washed-up merc employer. Misty had whispered something in his ear, causing the ex-fixer to perk up as he looked in the direction of the door.

“The doc and the nurse are saying it was you that saved me from that dingy fuckin’ basement,” Dex stated, his deep voice seeming raspy and hollow. “Is that true, V?”

V remained in place as Vik and Misty focused on changing some IV’s and checking vital equipment. “Partially. You had an agent from Danger Girl looking for your ass too. Worked together to get you out.”

“So, the nice Arasaka girl was looking for me too? That how you found me?” Dex rasped, coughing lightly. “I knew something was wrong as soon as you didn’t come to the No-Tell. The explosions, the news, goddamn it. That heist was my ticket out of this fuckin’ city.”

V’s silver hand clenched tightly. “It was my ticket too, not just you. Mine, Jackie’s, T-Bug, Evelyn. No wonder you slipped up when playing the game, you didn’t even read the rulebook before you came back thinking you were still a big shot.”

Vik turned to V, whispering. “Keep cool, you ain’t helping the infection I gotta fix if you rile him up and make him worse.”

V nodded. “Sorry, Vik.”

Dex coughed loudly, spitting some phlegm into a nearby bowl. “We all knew the risks, we knew robbing Arasaka was gonna be big. Nobody asked you to off anybody, though. You killing Yorinobu made it worse, that is what got Bug, Jackie and Evelyn killed.”

V’s hands clenched even tighter. “I didn’t kill Yorinobu, Dex. None of us did. It was Saburo, he killed him and pinned it on me and Jackie. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Tell that to N-Fifty-Four news, V. If anybody knew what you looked like, you’d be dead already. Just like me.” Dex croaked, Misty, giving him a small glass of water.

V snarled. “I wouldn’t let myself get caught, Dex. You did.”

The black fixer let out a harsh laugh as soon as Misty took the half-empty glass from his remaining hand. The laugh seemed to simmer and languish in the room as V slowly approached the end of the bed. His left hand had an itch, the silver hand scratching away at the synth-skin before V hid his hand behind his back. Skin and titanium shifted as V’s gorilla arm armed itself.

“As if it would have made a difference. Arasaka runs this town, the only reason you’re still walking around like you won the fuckin’ lottery is that you were just as fucked as the rest of us. They thought you were dead because it wasn’t worth chasing a ghost.” Dex gulped, reaching for the water again. “Dumb luck, V. You hit twenty-one when the everyone else went bust and the house lost.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Dex sniggered. “Just like always. I might be out of the game like you said, but I’m not stupid. I been in this game long enough to know that sometimes we all gotta make a play for the reward when the risk is too much. I paid for it, just like the rest of us. That silver arm suits you, how much you pay for it?”

“Two friends and half of my sanity,” V growled as his Gorilla Hand slithered onto Dex’s stump-foot. “I’ll pay Arasaka back for everything they took. They took what mattered to me, my friends. You know what I cherished the most, before Konpeki. Silence, just being able to think to myself. Now? Being alone with my thoughts, that is unachievable on a good day.”

Dex seemed to sense where V was as his grip tightened on the stump, seething in temporary pain. Vik had pulled Misty to one side as they allowed V and Dex some privacy. “I said you got that moxie when we first met, Mr V. Let’s not get too happy-go-lucky with what happens next, I can still help you.”

_“Come on, V. Press harder, let’s hurt this piece of shit. Nobody gives a fuck about some has-been who lost himself a decade back.”_

V grinned as his grip increased. “Then help me. Why did Evelyn come to you of all people for this job?”

“Same reason all people come to a fixer.” Dex’s bass-like voice intoned. “They needed somebody with connections to get the right people for the contract. I was that guy.”

V grunted as his grip relaxed for a moment. “She wasn’t gonna pay you, you know? She would have fucked you all over and ran away.”

“What?”

“She asked me when you told me she wanted to meet somebody with skin in the game, if I wanted to, I could have gone to her and given it for a fifty-fifty cut,” V revealed.

Dex shook his head, almost violently so. “Then the both of you were more fuckin’ crazy than I ever gave you credit for. Balls the size of titanium alloy. She clearly ain’t told you why she wanted that Relic in particular, because she sure as shit told me.”

V’s grip left Dex’s leg, but he soon stood up before the blind former fixer could feel the weight of the edge-runner on the upper end of the bed. His head turned to the left, sensing where V was based on the distribution of the weight of V. His closed hand hovered above Dex’s chest, the metal knuckles of V’s hand tapped lightly against Dex’s chest, growing harder and harder before his hand was clasped tightly to his shoulder.

“Why did she want the Relic?”

Dex smiled, soon starting to laugh. “She needed to give it to the Voodoo Boys. They found something on the Net, something that NetWatch didn’t want them to, but the chip could help them. Not that it mattered, those crazy voodoo birdbrains ain’t got a chip to use. Guess we all got fucked on this one, huh V?”

_“Shit. This guy is as useless as I thought. At least he knew something better than everyone else did. Voodoo Boys wanted me, guess we’re gonna have to visit Pacifica.”_

V’s grip faltered, soon falling away as he left the private room. He approached Viktor and Misty as they looked at a few medical documents related to their more recent patients, including Dexter. V had placed a folded twenty-Eddie note next to Vik, who had silently raged at the prospect of being paid for nothing. Misty had tried to contain her smile as she watched the constant revolving door argument unfold between Vik and V as they argued about payment before the older surgeon relented.

“What did he say?” Vik asked. “Did you tell him about the engram in your head, the data, I should say?”

“No. He didn’t know what was on the chip, all he knew was that Evelyn wanted it because she needed to give it to the VeeBees.”

Vik groaned, lips smacking as he figured out some future plans. “Voodoo Boys are into some nasty shit, really bad. There’s a reason NetWatch doesn’t like people going near Pacifica. The shit they can do on the net, they shit they do to people. Is it wise for you to go to Pacifica alone, especially if you got what they want?”

V wondered that himself. “I’m gonna see Rogue. See if she, well, is feeling nice to call me a favour.”

Vik kept a solid grasp on the younger man. “V, I’m serious. The Voodoo Boys will really mess with you if you go there unprepared. There are horror stories about people who go into Pacifica and come back missing things, physical or otherwise, or they just don’t come back at all. Please, for my sake and for your own, be careful when you go there.”

For a moment, V hadn’t actually come to grips with the fact that his favourite ripperdoc in Night City was actively warning him off doing something, whether it was a job or something personal to him. The Voodoo Boys wanted the engram of Johnny Silverhand for a reason, and they had gone to Evelyn to contact Dex to get a crew to rob Arasaka of their most prized possession. Whether they had directly caused it or not, the Voodoo Boys had a hand in what happened at Konpeki. All V needed were reinforcements, that, and a good runner to counteract the VeeBee running their own networks.

He needed to see Rogue. “Vik, I’ll be fine. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't much to say here other than we are finally approaching a rabbit hole of plot points that I had an idea of interlinking for a while now. The Voodoo Boys section of 2077 was probably one of the most immersive sections of the game, especially in regards to how they were portrayed, as well as giving us a few of what Johnny was really like when he was alive at the end of his life. I can't wait to show you guys what I have in store, in regards to 2020 and 2077.  
> -Apollo


	30. Tell Your Friends

**_21/09/2077  
The Afterlife  
Night City  
V and Rogue  
­_-  
**By the time V had arrived at The Afterlife (which wasn’t long after he’d left the surgery), he’d constantly been thinking, not about anything in particular but just thinking. The concept of him being a leader of the Clan was inherently foreign to him. He knew about his parents, McCall hadn’t been selfish enough to deprive V of not knowing about his parents, but he didn’t know them as if he were family to them. Despite the very foundation of the Aldecaldos Nation being that every member was to be considered family, sometimes those barriers just couldn’t be broken, and McCall was a man that liked solitude more than the company of people.

According to him, as well as Saul, Jay-Jay Ricciardo had been one of the nicest women they could have known. She was not some defenceless broad or woman that used her position to dodge any responsibility or job that needed doing. No, she was just as much a part of the camp as anyone else, and whether she was married to the clan leader at the time mattered very little to her. If a chore needed doing, she’d do it. If somebody missed a patrol, she’d gather a partner and cover for the clan.

He’d lost the photo of her; he’d lost it a long time ago. He still remembered though, more so through McCall’s description of her than the image he could scarcely remember. The short and dirty blond hair, sharp features on the small figure of the woman who had a pair of hazel eyes that someone could feel embraced and understood by if they took a moment to look her right in the eye.

His father had been, according to McCall, much different from his mother.

Alexander Ricciardo, the clan leader of the Aldecaldos before Saul Bright was made the leader following his untimely demise in San Francisco. McCall had been scant with the details on his death, although V wasn’t ready to press the old man on it. He knew his mother died giving birth to him, but whenever he gained the small courage to ask McCall how Alexander had died, the aged mercenary would have a steely look in his eye.

He’d say ‘I’ll tell you another time, but not now’ and in the meantime he’d drifted off to the border of the camp, going silent as he looked out into the wastes of the devastated rural American countryside or the desert plains. All V knew, was that he died in San Francisco and that he was supposedly a very stern, stubborn and tense man to ever have to work with, but with bravery and mettle that was needed in a successful leader. He made the camp turn from survivors, into those who thrived and could enjoy the freeing way of life they chose.

He'd rode Jackie’s bike slowly past the entrance to the club, the same line of people trying to get in watching as real hotshots and solos waltzed in with ease whilst they could only attempt to get inside the legendary club. They were all just kids, or fakers, or some other mix of people that only wanted in for their own benefit, and weren’t the real sort that deserved to get in based on merit or connections.

_“Granted, it sure as shit ain’t Club Atlantis, but you know what? Rogue’s joint ain’t too bad. As long as you ignore the little shits trying to get in every night, thinking they can get cred from just walking in.”_

“Basically, been like this for as long as I can remember. Ain’t exactly a secret that Rogue is the Queen of the city, and this is her domain.”

_“You know, from what I’ve seen, Rogue has changed a lot since I last saw her. Before, she wasn’t afraid to really pick up her iron and get shit done herself. Now, it’s all getting somebody to do it for her. That shit makes people go soft.”_

V grunted as he turned off the Nazare. “I don’t think she’s soft, Johnny. I think she ain’t got time to be dealing with bullshit, hence why solos exist.”

_“Whatever you say, V. You don’t know her like I do.”_

The nomad had pulled himself off the body of the motorcycle, his hand remaining on the light of the cycle for a small moment before both hands flicked over to his hips as he felt the cold golden grips of Jackie’s pistols. Now, they were his, but V always swore that he could feel a small tinge of warmth when he held the grips for the duo of pistols or the handlebars of his custom Arch Nazare. The feeling kept him focused, reminded him of what he needed to do before he could cut Night City and his losses and go somewhere else, anywhere but staying in Night City.

His old repeater rifle remained strapped tight against his back, the black leather strap resting over his chest and shoulder as the exterior bouncers nodded as they let him. Down the steps, and past Emmerich and immediately to the bar. He’d ordered a Jackie Welles off the bartender, for some reason Claire wasn’t on that night. He must have stood there for a solid hour, thinking of his next steps.

_“Find some heavy backup.”_

“Find a Runner.”

_“Find a way of not getting killed or brain-fucked by the VeeBees. They do believe in that voodoo shit, V. They’ll take your organs and use them for whatever kind of fucked up rituals they got planned.”_

V sipped on the Welles before he’d finished it off in one go, ordering a bottle of Galicia afterwards before paying off both the drinks. He’d wandered the club for a moment, thinking to himself as well as butting his head with Johnny about what to do next. He had a rough outline, but the clash was between whether they went in loud or just tried to avoid as much conflict as possible. Even in spite of the type of plan, the fact that he would have to walk into the Pacifica at all was more than scary. The Maelstrom were crazy, that was obvious since they were all on the edge of cyberpsychosis. The Valentinos and the Sixers were all just the regular gangoons that malingered through the city, organised crime at it’s most basic form. The Wraiths and Raffen Shiv wouldn’t be allowed near a city at all. The Animals were steroid-addled freaks, some of them desiring to look like genuine beasts that were known to be extinct, they were thugs known for their muscle.

He’d lingered at the bar, thinking of what he had heard (or what little he had heard) of the Voodoo Boys of the Pacifica District. They were Haitian, capable of extreme violence and from what other scant detail he had heard, they were insane when it came to breaking down through the Net. They had NetWatch’s attention pretty much twenty-four-seven. They were definitely not script-kiddies, V had seen the violence they were capable of when he took one job in Pacifica and swore to not go back. They ritualised aggression, turned it into a religious hobby, and he was fine with not entering that broken area of town.

_Johnny appeared on the other side of the bar, an unlit cigarette twirling between his fingers as he lowered his aviators. “Look, if we really want to get this done asap, we need help. That much we know.”_

_V nodded. “Pointing out the obvious, but yeah. We need help. I don’t want to get Panam or the Aldecaldos involved at least. If I have to do this on my own, I will.”_

_“I don’t recommend that, kid.”_

_“Yeah well, let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point.”_

As V remained, he’d finished his bottle before he ordered another, his eyes wandering to the booth across from the left of the bar. Rogue’s personal booth, she lounged there before she caught V’s glance with a nod and a shake of the head, directing V to join her immediately. Johnny’s eyes rolled all over the joint before he slipped into non-existence, leaving V to his own devices once more. He’d strolled slowly over to the booth, with Squama patting him on the back as he moved to the side allowing V into the private section. The old female solo was not alone, a much younger man sat at her side with a glass of something that V assumed to be vodka plus a mixer.

His skin seemed to be pale before it shivered and scuttled as if something was about to burst from beneath the skin. V had focused on the man, before Rogue had clicked her tongue and the skin almost disappeared, scuttling as pale skin disappeared, only to be replaced by the shining silver skin of a full-conversion cyborg. The brown hair that was stuck perpetually upward, the skin faceplate, it was the cyborg he’d rescued alongside Dex.

“V. Rogue’s been telling me all about you. Her little pet solo.” Shaitan commented, looking him up and down. “Don’t look like much. Nomad?”

“Used to be. Ex-Militech counterintelligence agent.”

Shaitan smirked. “Good to know you aren’t with the Arasaka scum-fucks, but that was a given when you killed that jackass with the katana. You ever need a hand with anything, especially Arasaka, I can make time for it. Anything to destroy those corpo pieces of shit.”

Rogue had sucked on her teeth as the borg and the half-borg continued to size each other up. Granted, V was one of her more promising prospects that she had considered making one of her own personal mercs, but he had a heart that belonged to nobody. Shaitan was in her three most trusted solos, mainly because of the fact that she had known him since twenty-twenty. He was on that raid at the Arasaka Tower back in twenty-three, and he was effective. His one downside was his hatred of Arasaka, he needed it, hell, the man-robot thrived on destroying Arasaka property. He was a sole part of the old guard, an old guard that she missed.

Santiago Aldecaldo was her man, the man was a smouldering, rugged nomad who oozed charm as much as he did untameable violence. The thought that V got on with Panam and said that he used to be a nomad just made her more certain of that fact. She didn’t admire nomads, but she could respect the hard life they chose to live in the name of freedom. V just made her think of Santiago.

“You two done eye-fucking each other, so we can get down to business?” Rogue interrupted. “V, kick back. I have a feeling that you need something, am I right?”

“Possibly,” V replied, flopping to the couch opposite Shaitan. “I need help, a favour.”

Shaitan’s faceplate moved up slightly. “You think you’ve done enough for Rogue to just give out a favour? Don’t get me wrong, but what is it exactly you want?”

“I need some help getting into the Pacifica. It’s the Voodoo Boys, they know something about the Konpeki Plaza heist. DeShawn said that the client needed a Relic chip to give back to the VeeBees. Thing is, I am not walking into the wolf’s den without some back-up. Not when the Voodoo Boys could just hack me to death and blow my synapses as soon as I walk in the wrong direction.”

Rogue’s fingers tapped against her ripped blue jeans, her tongue running over her lips, wetting them lightly. “That’s a big request, kid. What exactly do the Voodoo Boys want with the chip you stole from Arasaka?”

Shaitan perked up. “You stole a Relic from Arasaka? That’s a ballsy move.”

“It wasn’t a bright idea. Now, I got two guys who need to be put in the ground like the mad dogs they are.” V said to the borg, before turning to Rogue. “I can’t say it here, someone might be listening.”

Rogue stood up, directing the two solos as well as Squama to join her as she left her booth. The movements by the group of four were noticed around the club, as they moved behind the bar and through the door into the back. Rogue led them into the small networking room, Nyx already inside as each of them made their way in before she locked the door. The group of legends and solos were all stuffed into the cupboard room before Rogue aimed her glare at V.

“What’s on that chip, V? Whatever is on there stays between us, you, me, Shaitan, Squama and Rogue.”

V took a deep breath. “The Relic biochip we stole from Yorinobu and Saburo Arasaka has the personality engram for Johnny Silverhand on it. He’s still there, technically.”

The room was silent, Shaitan and Squama had immediately turned around and leant against opposing walls. Nyx had immediately turned foot and went back to his computer, almost trying to focus on every single pixel that appeared on the computer monitor. Rogue had tutted, suck her teeth and her hands tapped against her side as she paced to and fro in the room in relative silence.

_“You have either really fucked this up, or done something so catastrophically ballsy that she has no choice but to respect you for that. Think about it, you tried to steal me from the Arasakas and Smasher.”_

_“Johnny, if she thinks I’m lying, she’s gonna rip my balls and have Squama and Shaitan murder me.”_

_Johnny appeared in front of Rogue, shrugging before disappearing once again. “Well, then you’d actually have to tell her the truth so she doesn’t. If you get that chip, we can sort out our two-in-one problem and then get down to business. That way you don’t have to live with me in your head for the rest of your life and I can sit pretty in a fuckin’ robot or some shit.”_

Rogue’s hand drifted to her pistol for a moment, tapping the grip for a moment before she looked at V. “You’re certain it’s Johnny. Not some fucked-up AI that sounds like him, they used Soulkiller on him?”

V took a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, it’s Silverhand. I don’t know about Soulkiller, but it sounds like they did that Secure-Your-Soul thing to him.”

Rogue licked her lips again, multiple times over before she turned to Squama. She’d whispered something in his ear that only the Haitian bodyguard could hear before the large bodyguard had moved outside the room as soon as Rogue unlocked it. The rest of the room was silent, and Rogue continued to think in her own head. Johnny, unlike Alt, could be saved. It seemed insane. After the Arasaka Raid, it seemed like the semi-golden age of Night City solos had been and gone. Shaitan got caught out, inevitably. Spider Murphy was in the wind, like Bartmoss. Boa-Boa had ditched, and Morgan disappeared.

She only had a solid memory of Johnny. How he stopped just as he was about to get into their AV and fought against Adam Smasher instead to make sure they got out alive. She saw him be torn apart by a storm of heavy shotgun shells; she had confirmed his death because she had seen it with her own eyes. Now, after fifty-four years, some jumpstart kid like V was saying he was alive.

There was a large commotion, followed by a large hubbub as Rogue took the remaining three men into the main club. The bartenders, Darmian and Bailly had evacuated along with the rest of the crowds that had not five minutes ago been dancing, talking, singing in the club that was now empty bar the group of mercenaries that had wandered onto the bar. Rogue had leant against the various body storages that contained the alcohol; V stood with Shaitan against the fridges under the bar top as Squama stood next to Nyx on the other side of the bar.

“Shaitan, tell V about your lead before you got caught?”

“You sure, Rogue?” the borg asked, looking mostly for guidance instead of mutual trust. “We can trust him?”

Rogue nodded. “If the kid had the balls to rob Arasaka’s owners blind, come here with a silver arm and then tell me he tried to steal Johnny back from those bastards in ‘Saka Tower then I think we can trust him. I only wish he told me sooner what he was trying to rob.”

“I didn’t know if you’d call me a dumbass and kick me out. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Rogue gave him a very rare smile. “Water under the bridge. Shaitan?”

The borg took a crouching stance as he scoured the fridge. He took a bottle of Blue Moon before handing two bottles of Galicia to Rogue and to V. “Before ‘Saka’s ninjas got me locked down, I was looking for Bartmoss. I got this signal that was looking shifty, as in, pre-Internet crash shifty. The code was made out of sections of experimental Daemon and Hound programming sections, the kind of code that only Rache would know. I started homing the signal, but just as I got caught, I managed to detect another signal that was tracing Rache’s own. That signal, I don’t know who’s it was, but it wasn’t corpo, and they were looking Bartmoss too.”

V’s eyes widened. “Bartmoss, as in Rache Bartmoss? The guy who caused the DataKrash and destroyed the fuckin’ internet? You were looking for him?”

“If we were gonna ever take on the corps again, especially when they killed Johnny and Alt, we needed someone with big amounts of skill, not just rep. Bartmoss used RABIDS to destroy the net. The reason the Voodoo Boys you’re hunting are the way they are? Bartmoss put everything they want behind a locked door because NetWatch shit the bed and couldn’t stop him. Rogue AIs that turned into nightmares, corrupted data, viruses and code mutations that could fry everything if they came through. Why do you think NetWatch made the Blackwall? That’s why I was looking for Bartmoss.”

Rogue turned to V. “We thought if we could find Bartmoss, we could use whatever he had to see if we could find Blackhand, or Spider, or anyone that could help.”

“So, you were looking to do another attack on Arasaka.” V spoke, “but couldn’t find the right guys, no amazing runners or ballsy solos because…”

Rogue interrupted. “Arasaka, Militech, Biotechnica, PetroChem, after the Crash they all made their own little sub-internets that turned them back to normal because the normal net was completely screwed. Everything we did just turned to ashes. Johnny and Alt were dead, Spider and Blackhand had disappeared, Bartmoss was our only lead.”

“So, if we find Bartmoss…”

“We can find everyone else, and if not, we can try to find some guys to help out.” Shaitan finished, clipping the bottlecap before he necked the beer. V wondered how that worked.

V had followed along with Rogue and Shaitan, popping the cap of his beer before he began drinking from the beer. Rogue was not as enthusiastic, taking small sips from the bottle of Galicia before she placed it on the side of the bar top. She’d sighed aloud before she joined the group as they huddled into one group around the bar. Shaitan gathered two more drinks, a small mixer of rum and coke for Nyx whilst Squama took two cans of root beer.

V looked to the group. “You say where his signal was?”

“Middle of the Badlands, near the refuse heaps,” Shaitan replied, finishing off his bottle in record time. “Why? Scared?”

The nomad scoffed. “No chance. If we find him and it isn’t what we expected, then I think I can call on a friend to help us get out whatever Bartmoss left. Let’s get this done. I’ll meet you by the border gate tomorrow, at twelve sharp.”

The silver-skinned cyborg smirked. “Roger that, nomad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very dialogue-heavy chapter, sorry about that. I've been burnt out as of late, not due to the story, but more due to the state of my country at the moment regarding the pandemic. I am keeping to my schedule as tight as I can, but sometimes I just feel dead on my feet and tired, but there is this, so that's good?  
> -Apollo


	31. Desert Storm

**_22/09/2077  
Border Gate 03  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The previous night had been one filled with drinking, more so to make V sleep for a full night. Dreaming was rare for V; he usually fell into his sleep only to wake up in what felt like mere seconds later. An empty bottle of Jameson and a myriad of beer bottles littered his room, something he soon dealt with before he got ready. Shaitan had pinged him earlier, reminding him of the mission as well as the borg stating that he was bringing three other guys for some added muscle.

Packed and strapped in some heavy-duty Militech gear, V had stretched out his arms. Either he’d gotten larger in the past few days, or he had stretched it out a little too much. Splashing his face with cold water, he’d dried off before leaving his apartment and taking some gear from the back of his car. Jackie’s pistols remained on his hips, Cassidy’s repeater over his shoulder before he filled his tactical vest with magazines filled to the brim with ammunition and a small belt of four grenades. Taking a Masamune heavy rifle, he’d gotten on Jackie’s bike and drove off to the Night City border gates.

Early morning traffic for once, wasn’t too bad. He’d managed to beat the lights as well as the heavy load trucks, finally getting off before the bike drove itself to safety. Walking out into the sunlight, V caught sight of the glinting silver skin of Shaitan as he lazily leant against the graffitied black side of the Militech Manticore AV. The heavy-duty aerial carrier was imposing, extremely out of place in the very middle of the parking lot that resided next to the main border gate. The Manticore wasn’t exactly a new sight, it was the basic carrier for the NCPD, used for the MaxTac squads usually whenever they needed to burst out the big guns.

V approached; his rifles strapped tight against his back. “Thought you said we would be driving into the desert?”

“The signal from our guy isn’t exactly on a path you’d call an easy drive. Roads ain’t exactly easy to drive, and there’s some radioactive hotspots that fucks bad with my systems.” Shaitan replied. A screwdriver was in his hand, twirling in a screw located in his wrist. “Besides, this bad boy has air-conditioning.”

“Right, lead on.”

The main door opened, the black steel door rising up as the engines on each corner of the AV pulsed orange and yellow, V assuming they were pre-flight checks. Stepping into the main hold, there were two heavily-cyberized ex-Maelstromers, laying back in the seating area. Shaitan introduced them, the larger Hispanic being T-Bar, the smaller Asian male being Mace. Wielding a smart-rifle and a heavy machine gun respectively, the borg and the nomad entered the cockpit.

“V, this is Condor,” Shaitan said, the pilot leaning out of his left-sided seat. The man was just as modified as T-Bar and Mace, the lower half of his head and neck replaced with cyberware and respiration gear. In a beige flight-suit, and apparently legless, Condor had given a mock salute as the pilot plugged himself into the Manticore’s mainframe.

“Good to meet ya, boss man! Hear your one of the new guys in our lucky lady’s retinue, huh?” The pilot asked.

V nodded. “Guess you could say that. Are you able to pilot this thing on your own? Thought the neural load was too much for one guy?”

Condor’s eyes began to glow an eerie red. His voice seemed to echo through the AV’s speakers. “You can bet your bottom Eddie that I can, this kind of flight is easy for me bro!”

“Nice to know.”

V and Shaitan left the pilot to his own devices, flicking away at buttons and triggers as the main doors to the Aerial Vehicle closed, sealing the five mercenaries inside the carrier. V had readied his Masamune, checking it was ready before he inserted a magazine into the mag-well and pulled back the hammer. With a satisfying snap, the heavy automatic rifle was ready for action. Shaitan had remained close to the shotgun V had given him when he rescued him alongside Dex. The sawn-off double-barrel had been given an extra barrel on top, a different slug placed into the chamber of the top barrel, different to the double-barrel below.

The shell was green, the jolly roger emblazoned on the bottom of the round. V looked at Shaitan. “The muscle really necessary?”

Shaitan stopped focusing on the shotgun, his eyes flicking up to look at the nomad. “Last time I tried following this signal, I spent forty-seven years out of the loop. The fact I can still remember it like it was yesterday says a lot, so yeah, I think it’s necessary. It’s Bartmoss we’re talkin’ about, can never be too careful with this guy. He’s a paranoid fuck. He made DataKrash for a reason.”

“To say ‘fuck you’ to the corpos,” V muttered.

Shaitan stifled a laugh. “More like fuck everyone and everything. He’s a visionary, wanted to free the world. All the Crash did was make everything worse. Wonder if he knows.”

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

“That we are.”  
 **-  
 _The Refuse Heaps, The Badlands_  
Outside Night City  
­-  
**The flight out from the border of the City of Dreams had been much quicker, that much that V had managed to admit. Driving in the heat was a grim thought, let alone driving in the heat without any air-conditioning. Condor had managed to fly under the radar of NightCorp and Militech radar that constantly monitored the border of Night City, although it did require some creative methods.

How they hadn’t been caught by any of the usual nanny-state overlords that guarded the border was something that V couldn’t feasibly think of. Condor had been a good pilot, although flying without anyone watching was always an easy prospect, it was freeing almost. Shaitan had soon joined the cyber-pilot in the cockpit as they left the city limits, relaxing the neural load on the pilot in case of any unnecessary conflict on the way to find Bartmoss. The flight had become much smoother with two pilots, allowing V to open the left-side door of the Manticore, the hot desert air breezing past them, wind whipping past the crew of the AV as they remained in the hold of the aerial vehicle.

The mix of cold, manufactured air and the natural warm aura made V feel calm, he composed himself in a way that was engrained in him from his army days. He took controlled breaths, his eyes scanning the ground below. As they flew, V began to flick through the notifications on his HUD. He could hear T-Bar and Mace muttering in the background, as he scanned through his messages and calls. The missed calls from Meredith had increased from three to five, and V had soon pushed himself to call back. He’d pressed through various screens and directories to call her, the poor signal in the Badlands not exactly helping him in any way.

The call hadn’t connected. He could hear her speak, the same way she would at work as the stone-faced bitch that he used to know. “This is Stout. If this is business and you’re below me, call me later. I’ve got better things to do. Bye.”

V sighed as his HUD flicked away from his holo-cell. Of course, she wouldn’t pick up when he actually called, he hadn’t done the same to her the past five times, so why would she? He’d rolled his eyes as his eyes flickered and gazed upon the Refuse Heaps that surrounded the wrong side of the city. Old cars, defunct machinery, out of date cyberware and armaments, compacted trash and waste, all of it thrown outside of the city as it piled up higher and higher by the south side of the city, the very opposite of the fuel refineries and fields up in the north side of the city. The smell of the waste mountains permeated through the desert air, infiltrating the filters of the Manticore.

V soon caught the smell, scowling as he smelt the rust and shit. He comforted himself as he began to sing to himself, a small tune from the army. “I remember that poor soldier Tommy, he was shot by an old free man’s gun. As he lay on the battlefield dying, these were the last words he said…”

_“Feel like reminiscing a bit, huh, soldier?”_

The AV began to circle around a shining steel container. “Just remembering something from the years back. Something we’d sing when we lost a guy in our unit. I’ll tell you about it some time.”

_“Take your time, kid. I know what serving this fuckin’ country is like, we can talk all day about it later. Maybe once we’ve gotten Bartmoss out of his hidey-hole. Real soldiers have my respect, that counts for you too, kid.”_

Shaitan’s voice splintered through the speakers. “Bartmoss’ signal is coming from that crate, get ready. We need to be prepared for whatever he’s got in store for us. Like we know, he’s paranoid. So, keep your eyes open.”

The Manticore circled around in the air for a few more sightings before T-Bar had confirmed the area of operation as clear. Shaitan had soon come from the cockpit, some heavy gear strapped over his arms and chest. His shotgun was holstered on his hip as he took a Copperhead rifle in his hands. Hitting the sand, the four soldiers forged themselves into a diamond formation. Mace and T-Bar took the point and six respectively, with Shaitan and V covering the left and right angles of the squadron. Rifle aiming, each mercenary scanned the area multiple times with perfect precision as they made their way to the storage crate.

Mace attempted to open the crate, with little success. “Locked tight, getting some real odd temperatures from inside. Below zero.”

“Guy’s gonna be an ice-pop when we pull him out. He can’t be alive.” T-Bar muttered.

Shaitan moved up next to the Asian merc, slapping a small thermal charge against the door before the squad moved a few clicks away from the container. The charge sparked brightly for a few moments, and in a few seconds, the metal screamed as it was forced from it's hinges. The section of soldiers moved forward, pulling the steel doors off their hinges as they soon walked inside the crate.

The crate itself had been manufactured into a small cryogenic container. The heat had immediately melted away as the four soldiers could see their breath expelled once they entered the container. Server-stacks and computer towers were filled to the brim, wired from every plughole filtering into large pylons that were all linked to a fridge-like device that was closed in the very centre of the container. The squad filtered into a straight line, Shaitan moving forward as he approached the fridge.

“If we hear a click or a ticking, move out ASAP. Moss might have trapped this place. Definitely looks like where the signal is coming from.” The borg ordered, the three behind him nodding.

Shaitan’s free hand wrapped around the handle of the fridge, ripping it open as a cold breeze brushed against his skin. There was no tick or clicking sound, no timers ticking away to self-destruction. The borg sighed aloud, with V turning to see the sight past Shaitan’s shoulder. The cold brushed lightly over his face as he looked inside. The squad dispersed as each of them caught sight of the fridge’s contents.

The pale figure, buried in the ice that had merged together as a final resting place for the infamous hacker of the twenty-tens. His skin was ashen white, small icy stalactites dangling from his nose, ears and chin. The creator of the DataKrash was frozen solid, whatever was left of him, the most important part of his brain locked tight under frozen skin, flesh and bone. His cyberdeck would be an antique, antiquated and archaic, but extremely valuable in the right hands, or deadly in the wrong ones.

“Should have guessed this would have happened sooner or later,” Shaitan grumbled as he began to unplug the corpse from the cryo-container. “T-Bar, help Condor prep the AV for cold storage. Bartmoss is delicate cargo.”

“Roger that, Shai.”

The large Hispanic soldier moved past Mace as he exposed himself to the heat from the furious sun. Walking on the sand, he’d made it halfway across the way before a series of heavy gunshots rippled through the air. The bullets pinged and deflected off the crate, but T-Bar was not so lucky. Caught out in the open, he’d managed to open fire on the source of the gunshots but he was torn apart by the daunting chain of gunfire that tore him and his cybernetics apart as his blood begun to water the sand. There was more than one shooter, evidenced by the fact that the gunfire against the crate never ended.

“Shit!” V exclaimed. “Condor, do you have eyes on the shooters?”

“Affirmative, it’s fucking Arasaka! You never told me we’d be pissing off Smasher! Fuck this, man! I’m out!”

“What?” Mace questioned; his eyes shocked wide. “This is Smasher? We’re fucked!”

Shaitan started ripping out the wires before Bartmoss’ body fell out of the fridge. “Look, we can contain this IF we are smart. Condor, I need you to do a flyover and provide some fire support. Mace, pop smoke and V, you provide cover fire. We cannot fight him directly, okay!?”

There was a terrifying screeching sound, something artificially created by another series of rapid gunfire was aimed at the crate, soon beginning to ripple through the metal of the storage container. Computer links and server towers were shredded as the trio ducked to the floor before the roar of engines hovered over them, shaking them so hard they could feel it in their bones. Condor’s Manticore ship circled over before the pulsing of cannon fire could be heard. Screams were echoing from the distance, sizzling heat from the cannons vaporising flesh and sand as the AV circled back again as the heavy fire support was soon aimed at the black-clad figure that stood in the middle of the desert plains.

Adam Smasher stood at a fearsome nine-foot, marking him out amidst the remaining Arasaka grunts that soon converged on his position. His gatling cannon was soon aimed at the Manticore as it dived down once more, cannons firing ruthlessly at his position as smoke emerged from the doorway of the container. The railgun cannons hit him direct on his position, with the cyber-pilot unable to confirm as hit as he circled around once more. He just managed to scope out the trio of soldiers moving out from inside the crate and behind it. The sand had soon cleared up, revealing the remains of the battlefield.

Guts and blood stained the field of fire, bodied torn apart amidst the carnage of destroyed armoured carriers. The black mechanised figure stood tall amidst the damage, unfazed, and Condor swore he caught a glimpse of a pair of shining red eyes that were directly zoning in on him. Metal and wires shifted efficiently, his gatling cannon swapping out for the small rocket pod that set itself on Smasher’s right shoulder. The pod soon redirected itself, aiming towards the aerial vehicle that hovered above the robotic warrior.

“Warning! Lock-on Detected!”

“Shit,” Condor exclaimed, as the AV began to avert its next course. “Smasher’s got homing rockets, I’ve gotta go! I’ll be back in five mikes! Just, fuckin’ stay alive until I get back!”

The trio on the ground could see the Manticore begin to fly away in desperation before the screaming of three rockets were fired by their indomitable adversary. The rockets trailed behind the AV before all three hit the rear left engine. Rapidly losing control, the carrier soon fell out of view and down into the lower desert valley. Mace had soon taken his heavy machine gun, swivelling around the corner of the crate as the barrels spooled, opening up an avenue of escape for V and Shaitan as the smaller mercenary provided some cover fire from the cyborg tank.

V pushed Shaitan as he clasped something tightly on his chest, twirling it around as it started flaring vibrantly. With V behind him, he pushed the silver-skinned borg as he carried the frozen body across the sandy hills. V had kept his eyes on the battlefield as they fled desperately. His rifle was clutched tight in his hand, focusing as the figure of Smasher disappeared behind the crate before the heavy gunfire from Mace had stopped. The machine gun was thrown away before the squat soldier was thrown to the floor, minus his arms as he struggled to crawl away from his oncoming death.

Like an oncoming storm without a warning to evacuate, Smasher approached the disabled cyberized mercenary. Panicking, crying, whining in pain, Mace’s life was cut short as soon as Smasher raised his foot before it slammed down without any hint of slowing, crushing Mace’s head and splattering it’s contents across the sand. His body jolted for a few seconds before it stopped, as Smasher soon looked over the valley before he step-turned to his right. The rocket pod aiming directly at the two fleeing mercenaries, with one rocket launching out of it’s pod before the two mercs could even try to split apart.

V could barely feel his body flying through the air before he impacted the sand, feeling the grains in his hair and in his mouth. Rolling onto his back, he could barely see through the blurring and scramble-fuzzing of his HUD other than the grainy black body that was slowly approaching. The ground pounded as the figure approached, slowly marching before he leered over the dazed cyber-soldier.

His garbled voice ground against his ears. “I told you that you’d be next, cunt.”

His arm raised to the sky as a sudden sharp metal unsheathed itself from his wrist. The slim-blade was black and rippled, little sparks of black lightning arcing from the steel itself. His free hand gripped V by the neck of his combat vest, hauling him from the sand as the blade was soon pressed against his chest, slowly sinking through the vest as it carved through the carbon-nanoweave effortlessly. Just as the blade pierced the skin, V was thrown away from imperious cyborg as a familiar figure tackled into the taller cyborg.

Blood leaked through his combat vest, dribbling on to the desert plain as he crawled towards Bartmoss’ abandoned body. The body had remained in cold storage for so long that it didn’t feel any different from when they managed to extract him from the container. Cold to the touch, V tried to find his centre of balance before he got to his knees. Stopping V from dying meant Shaitan was in the fray, directly against Smasher. Steel and metal pounded and hammered against each other, black metal against silver skin as the Arasaka leviathan charged towards the borg-mercenary.

Smasher had attempted to clothesline Shaitan’s head clean off his shoulders, relying on his strength to dominate the clearly smaller fighter. Shaitan, however, was fighting quicker and smarter. He ducked under the blow, tackling the corpo behemoth into the sand before he was soon tossed into the sand himself. The two had tried to gain every advantage, Shaitan yelling obscenities as Smasher’s entire body ground, shrieked and reacted to every movement as metal plating slid against each other, sparks flying as every quick hit he attempted was aimed into the storage container and pushed into the sand.

V pushed on; the repeater rifle was only a few inches feet away. Desperate, crawling and gripping handfuls of burning sand as he forced himself forward before his hands wrapped around the handle of the heavy rifle. His shock from the missile was wearing off slowly, and soon he found his mettle and got to his knees. Steadying his aim, he readied himself as soon as Shaitan ducked out of one of Smasher’s heavier punches. Firing off three shots, two missed as they flung themselves into the container but one impacted a small section between plating between his neck and chest. The Arasaka cyborg was stunned, giving Shaitan an opportunity to really knock the larger robo-soldier around.

Straight jabs, left and right hooks, uppercuts to the body and to the head. The roar of engines, one much more damaged than the others soon re-appeared. Smoke appeared just below the cliff-face, as the Manticore carrier hovered over the battlefield. Shaitan took the opportunity once again to make sure Smasher wouldn’t recover for a few minutes. Pulling out the triple-barrel shotgun, he fired all three slugs into the human tank’s main chest plating. The final shot fired a green sticky material that began to smoke and fizzle against the heavy-duty metal plating. As the Manticore landed, Shaitan rushed over to the body of Bartmoss and the nomad. The silver cyborg hauled the body onto his back as he dragged V to the AV.

“Come on, V! Get up! GET UP!” Shaitan bellowed from his throat, almost sounding hoarse. “We can make it! Just fucking get up!”

V got up, as Shaitan threw himself and the body of Bartmoss into the belly of the carrier. The nomad did not join them, instead, he turned as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. Turning around, the pair of mercenaries caught sight of the steadfast psycho-soldier. His primary plating had melted away, green liquid burning through the metal as Smasher barrelled towards the Militech agent.

V had immediately pulled one of Jackie’s pistols out. Firing rapidly, V did not relent as each bullet pelted Smasher’s chest plate, tearing through it before V was thrown back as the cyborg charged directly into him. The roar of the dying engine thundered in his ears, as the AV flew away with Shaitan’s distant yelling dying out as it flew further away. V had shuffled to his back, rushing to reload his pistol before Smasher stalked towards him. Standing tall over him, V rolled out of the way of his pressing stomp multiple times before he got up, only to be kicked and thrown directly against the container.

His back ached, his breathing felt tight unfire did not stop the Arasaka borg. Two empty magazines and Smasher had stopped moving. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t even kneeling towards V. Dropping the empty clip, V had reloaded the pistol and kept it aimed dead on Adam Smasher’s head. The glint of his red optics flared before the nine-foot golem trudged towards him. Taking a grenade, he’d lobbed it at Smasher who ended up catching it in his hand before he threw it over his shoulder, sand showering over him. V threw another one, the grenade rolling towards Smasher’s feet before the robot soldier crushed it underfoot.

V bellowed, firing at Smasher angrily as the bullets bounced off plate armour or hit some spots that weren’t vital to him in the short-term. The pistol clicked, empty once again before V slid it into his waist belt. As the pistol was tucked away, he failed to dodge Smasher’s next attack. An uppercut thrust straight to his body, throwing him against the crate once more. Cold steel wrapped around his throat, tossing him away as he rolled into the sand before stopping at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the valley below.

The feeling of steel gripped him by the throat once again, wires wrapping around his neck to solidify the hold that Smasher had on the soldier in his unbreakable grip. V’s hands fought to break the tightening chokehold Smasher was beginning to sink in before he lessened the hold.

“I knew it was you.” Smasher’s voice growled, a synthetic drone audible in every word. “Killing the Devil, finding DeShawn, the little show with you killing Oda. Good! He was useless, anyway!”

“Fuck you, you borged-out piece of shit!” V snapped, trying to break the grip. “You killed Jackie! I’ll rip those optics off your face and crush your fucking skull in!”

Smasher laughed. “Good! That’s what I like to hear! So, there’s the Militech bitch, the silver-skinned pussy, where’s the old cunt, where’s Rogue? Where’s Blackhand?”

V roared, dangling helplessly from the floor as he tried to wrestle with no hope. “Up your fuckin’ ass! When I kill you, I’ll find that piece of shit Takemura, and take his fucking eyes too!”

“Fat chance of that happening, you twiggy little fuck. First, I’ll break your neck and let rot in this shithole desert. Then, I’m gonna find that borg, the old bag and her friends and kill them too. And when I find that Relic, I’ll get rid of that degenerate fucking rockerboy like I should have done in twenty-three!”

V pounded and punched and screamed and kicked as he tried helplessly to fight. “You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you! Let alone kill anyone, you bastard! Just you wait!”

“Just wait? Wait for what? What are you gonna do, you bag of meat?”

V’s Muramasa blade spat out of his arm violently, and in desperation, V sliced across Smasher’s heavily stitched and grafted face. One of his optic devices was sliced in half, what remained of Smasher’s face began to bleed profusely from the cut. As soon as the short, red samurai blade folded away, V felt himself being dragged closer and closer to Smasher’s face. The nomad looked at what remained of Smasher’s eye. His lids were forced open, tear ducts cut away as his bloodshot eye scrambled to find refuge. The chokehold tightened, and before he killed the little toy soldier in his hand, Smasher let him die a failure.

His voice bellowed directly in V’s ear. “You think I wouldn’t find your little Militech whore? She died like a bitch, screaming and crying, begging to be let go, thinking you’d save her. Well, guess what, _Virgil?_ I killed her, and I’m gonna kill you too.”

His chokehold lessened one final time, as V felt his grip loosen before he was thrust off the side of the cliff. He felt free, taking whatever breath he could in every hoarse scream and cough and sputter before ever felt the landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you all know, we've now hit the midpoint of the story! After so many (three chapters) of having V be peaceable and somewhat calm after being in the Nomad camp, I have decided to thoroughly have his ass kicked, physically and mentally. If this doesn't solidify a real antagonist, I don't know what will.  
> -Apollo


	32. Two-Way Street

**_22/09/2077  
The Afterlife, Watson District  
Night City, California  
Shaitan  
_-  
**“FUCK!”

The flight from the desert back into the city had been one that was notably silent. T-Bar and Mace were most definitely dead, bullets ripping through T-Bar’s flesh and Smasher’s foot caving through the skull of Mace. That signal, the possibility of it being Arasaka was running through his mind, but if that was true, how hadn’t they found Bartmoss’ body in the years prior to him waking up after the forty-seven odd years-worth of a technological hangover? Perhaps it wasn’t them, perhaps they’d been tailed and it wouldn’t have surprised him if that were true either.

Adam Smasher was a dog, a bloodied metal beast that lived to sniff out trouble wherever he could find it. Shaitan could kick his ass, maybe not as bad as he liked to think he could, but he definitely had the fight to go toe to toe with him. Anyone else, and they risked getting their arms ripped off and their skulls pulped into mush. He couldn’t understand how V didn’t see that same fate happening to him.

He was most certainly dead; Smasher loved a fight and he relished in prolonging an inevitable death. Shaitan had punished the interior of the Manticore, his silver-coated fist punching against the metal of the AV. Now, the younger solo was doomed to die in a desert. He’d have to tell Rogue, and no doubt she might be disappointed but life had to go on. V died, but he had not and so that meant he’d have to continue.

He'd slipped into the cockpit, taking a seat in the chair just above Condor before he jacked into the Manticore’s system. The aerial vehicle stabilised again, noticeably as the neural stress of piloting the AV lessened as it was shared between the two. The defaced flyer had soon joined the air traffic streams, merging and taking advantage of it’s markings as a ‘Militech Manticore’ to dip in and out of the routes between skyscrapers before they finally arrived in Watson.

Condor had finally managed to land the AV, the landing gear bottoming out as the aero collapsed on itself as it dropped onto the roof lifelessly. The two cyberized pilots pulled the wires out of their neuro-ports as the ship’s engines were finally silenced. Bartmoss’ body had still remained frozen in the hold of the Manticore. The doors opened, with Condor getting out to start making repairs as Shaitan picked up the cryo-frozen cadaver and took it into the main elevator.

The frost and ice that was seemingly flash-frozen to his skin were skimming against the receptors in his skin and on his fingers. The man Shaitan knew was a wizard on a keyboard, let alone when he was sifting through the net and ripping through ICE and the corpo net-security. When the elevator stopped, Emmerich had immediately let Shaitan through the door and into the main room. As opposed to how he usually saw Afterlife, the place was empty and the music was calmer. Rogue was situated behind the bar, Squama and Nyx next to her as she began dictating orders to each of them.

Her mercenaries had been planted around the club, security turrets and barricades set up in placements of high strategic value. Rifles, shotguns, machine guns, every single barrel pointed at the door which Shaitan had just walked through before they calmed down once again. Rogue turned to see Shaitan, her eyes falling when she noticed the body in his arms and her missing solo protégé in V.

“What the fuck happened?” Rogue called out as she emerged from the bar. “Where’s V, the rest of your scrapyard crew?”

“Smasher happened. The bastard came out of nowhere with a section of Arasaka goons. T-Bar and Mace are dead, V stayed behind so we could fly out of there.” Shaitan admitted as he placed Bartmoss’ frozen body on the bar top. “And Bartmoss is an ice-pop, found him frozen to death with all of his techs. Died like a living computer.”

Rogue’ hands fell to her face, wiping away as she sighed into the palm of her hands. Soon, her hands clasped together before they fell to her hips. “Fuck. Fuck! I’m gonna get that chromed-out piece of shit one day. He can’t kill Johnny, and V, and make Blackhand go into hiding and not pay Shai, he just can’t!”

“He’ll pay, Rogue. Just not today. We’ll get him. Look, we just need to get that chip from the Voodoo Boys and then we go from there. We can’t stop now.”

“I know, I know,” Rogue admitted, turning to look at Bartmoss. “Christ, look at him. Let’s get him in the back, we need to go through his deck. There has to be something in his OS or his deck that gives us something against Arasaka.”

Squama had soon picked up the frozen carcass of the netrunner and hauled him into the back, with Shaitan, Rogue and Nyx following right behind as more guards stepped behind and guarded the door into the private net-room. Squama had gently laid the body into the net-running chair, and soon Nyx had gone to work. He’d pulled out more and more extension cables and platforms, attaching and connecting them together before he finally took the main input wire, sliding it gently into the ice-cold neural port of the legendary runner.

Going back to the computers, wires and extensions cords, Nyx had soon finished his work as each one connected to a dummy-net or a proxy sub-station. He approached the computer once again, connecting the wires from Bartmoss’ deck into the computer before he took his own jack-wire out, the line extending from his neural port before Squama grabbed his hand.

“Listen, _fre_ , whatever is in this guy’s brain _,_ isn’t good. Can’t you find another way to crack him open?”

Rogue was next. “Squama is right, Nyx. Whatever Bartmoss’ has, he won’t have just left his defences in the desert. Money’s on the fact he’s jury-rigged his deck to shotgun whoever jacks into his brain. He was paranoid for a reason, Arasaka wouldn’t have been looking for him for fun, there’s a reason.”

Nyx shrugged, his wire snapping back into his flesh. “Look, perhaps this is the best chance we have at saving Silverhand, whether he’s a person or in a Relic bio-chip. This has to work, and I don’t think anyone else here is willing to take a dive into some dodgy net. This must be done.”

Shaitan shook his head. “This isn’t time for you to get sacrificial. Look, if something goes wrong, I’m pulling the wire out.”

“No,” Nyx immediately shot. “If something happens, keep me in. Otherwise, he just turns into a corpse. Please, just let me do this.”

The silver-skinned borg, as well as the Haitian and elder female solo, were concerned. Nyx, the small little African-American had been a tech wizard, perhaps one of the best net-runners that Rogue had known for the past ten years. He made a name for himself because he was one of the few who could ever leave the Voodoo Boys for something better. He didn’t have the accent like Squama, but he knew how they operated and it was no different from every other gang. They would kidnap, murder, rape, the only real difference was the fact they operated on a level above others because of their net-running.

“Fine.” Rogue allowed it, as Nyx finally took his wire back out. He aimed it at the port in the main computer, before he took a few deep breaths as he finally plugged himself in. “Okay, this is good.”

“What’s in there?” Shaitan asked.

Nyx moved away, his line extending as he swiped his arms through the air. “Lot’s of bad shit. Copies from parts of dead networks, a wandering malformed AI and a shit-hot virus that’s mutating everything inside here.”

Rogue sighed. “Is there anything in there? There has to be something. Be careful.”

“Trying,” Nyx stated. “Shit, well, that’s my death warrant signed.”

“Fuck this, I’m getting you out.”

“No! Do that, and Bartmoss is useless. I found a way in, but it just meant that if I had to make myself the key breaker to destroy all the locks.” Nyx admitted, sighing as his hands dropped to his sides, he turned to the trio. “That’s it. The deck is jailbroken. As soon as I take this wire out, that’s it.”

Rogue stepped forward, moving towards the netrunner. Her hand gently pressed against his cheek as his eyes shone an eerie orange glow. His eyes were darting around, rapidly switching direction from left to right, up to down, back and all around as they started glowing again. Shaitan pulled her away gently as his body started spasming. His legs twitched, shuffling before he regained control of his shaking hands as he grabbed a hold of his jack-wire. With twitching hands, jerking legs and his body contracting multiple times a second, he could barely mutter a goodbye before he ripped the wire from his head.

He dropped lifelessly to the floor, his eyes stopped glowing as the orange faded away and turned into a bloodshot brown pallor. The computer chimed, the cyberdeck belonging to Bartmoss was open. Squama moved slowly towards the body of Nyx, as his hand pressed against his neck before he shook his head. Nyx had died, refusing to burn himself out or become a nest for an AI, opening the cyberdeck as a final act before he went out, on his own terms.  
 **-  
 _Johnny Silverhand  
The Desert, who fucking knows where, somewhere in California…  
_-  
** _He couldn’t fucking believe it._

_Adam fucking Smasher gets away with bullshit. How the tip of his blade hadn’t ripped through his brain baffled the rockerboy. Ripping through the skin and the eye of his patchwork force on the steel frame still felt better than any orgasm he’d had. He’d always been told that whoever sought revenge should always dig two graves._

_Well, he was in the grave and it still felt really good when he finally managed to hurt the bastard that killed him._

_That was before he got hauled from his feet and thrown into the valley. V was fucked, no matter how he looked at it. The only saving grace was that the sub-dermal armour under V’s skin was the cushioning that saved their lives. Grey carbon-polyweave under the fake skin being the nice hard pillow for a fall that in all honesty, should have killed the both of them. His legs were fucked, and he could barely feel his spine._

_The last time he’d felt this weak was when he died himself, and that was because he got bodyslammed by a heavy shotgun by Smasher himself._

_“I’m what is keeping you going, we need this chip if we ever want to live separate from each other. I’m letting you live another day, and when you wake up, me and you are gonna be everyone’s biggest fucking problem. Come on, wake the fuck up, Samurai! If I have to take over your body, I’ll fucking take it!”_

_Now, he was lying in scorching sand, aching like never before with a mouth that was probably about as dry as Rogue’s cunt, but thoughts like those weren’t gonna save them from heatstroke or dehydration. No, he needed to actually do something. V’s body took a heavy breath, sucking in air and exhaling rapidly before he managed to roll over, his chin grating against the hot sands._

_“One step at a time, Johnny.” V’s mouth croaked hollowly, his lower body refusing to move as the silver prosthesis weakly slapped into the sand, grains of sand slipping away. “One step at a time. Come on, V, your tough piece of corpo-shit, fucking work like I need you too…”_

_Everything that V had valued, everything Johnny valued, they flashed before him. Each handful of sand triggered a memory to come falling onto him. Shared experiences, losing a loved one, joining the military, experiencing true freedom as they travelled with the nomads._

_Losing Alt._

_Losing Jackie._

_The truth being revealed, like a message from a dead God. Arasaka was the root of all evil, and it needed to be ripped out, root and stem. Everything they did, as individuals and as one body, was done to destroy Arasaka. Tearing through to save Alt before she was killed, nuking the Arasaka Tower, robbing Konpeki, killing Oda and stopping them from getting Bartmoss. All so Arasaka never gained an upper hand._

_Johnny roared, V’s mouth opening to spit blood and mucus as the body of the nomad echoed Johnny’s voice, bellowing loudly with each drag of his body. The sun beat down on his back, burning against his flesh as the sand scorched every inch of skin that it brushed against. What felt like hours turned out to be minutes as Johnny refused to die, refused to let V die in the middle of a desert on his own._

_“COME ON! I’M NOT LETTING YOU DIE LIKE THIS! I’M NOT LETTING YOU FUCKING GO OUT LIKE A BITCH! MOVE, V! MOVE!”_

_He could feel his heartbeat go faster; his head began to thrum as every thought turned into that same sweary oath. He wasn’t going to die, he refused to die to Adam Smasher again, he’d kill that borged-out bastard if it was the last thing he ever did._

_The wastes seemed to go on, the shifting sands never-ending as the desecrated body of V crawled and dragged and hauled and heaved itself across the desert. Johnny felt his mouth go dry, he swore he could have seen both of his arms turn silver before he shook himself out of his stupor and continued crawling._

_He was not going to die._

_He stopped crawling, reserving the energy to utilise the HUD, activating his holo-cell. Johnny managed to find Panam’s number, clicking the presented text as a small dial-up tone started. As it rang, he started inching forward again, growling and groaning as the pain began flooding to every inch of his back and legs. He could feel them dragging loosely behind him, as the tone ended and his HUD lit up with Panam’s face, half in a pillow._

She looked dazed, more so confused as she started to wake up. “V? What, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

_“Need…” Johnny felt faint, almost as if the light and spark and soul was going out. “…help. Sending my co-ords. Quick…”_

_The HUD fell away soon after, as Johnny just managed to send off his location to the female Nomad. He made a few desperate grasps in the sand before he lost control once again._

_He’d done all he could. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing calm as he lay there in the burning sun. Even if V lived, and they managed to split apart again, he’d never fade away.  
 **­**_ **-  
 _29/09/2077  
Aldecaldos Camp, Outside Night City  
The Badlands, California  
V_  
-  
**At first, with all the bright lights and the dull plucking of strings with humid heat, V thought he’d died. There was a cacophony of sounds echoing around him, clanking metal arms and legs, beeping from what sounded like medical machinery. He could barely feel his legs under the light covering that hid him away from the waist down. The dull strings soon found a small rhythm, going from unorganised notes to somewhat ordered chords that repeated and changed.

He wiped away the blur and the sleep from his eyes as he tried to pull himself up, failing tremendously as the lower half of his body refused to comply. A small handle dangled in front of him, his arms barely reaching the wooden grip as he managed to haul himself up from his bed. The chords stopped, as somebody rushed to him, a soft arm behind his back that kept him falling back.

“V, you’re okay!” the deep voice shouted. V made out Mitch’s face as he put the guitar against the bed. “Teddy said if you didn’t wake up, you were basically gonna be a… well, let’s say it wouldn’t have been good for any of us.”

The cyberized nomad groaned. “I would have been dead…”

“Yeah, well, you’re not. I guess you got somebody looking over you. You were on the edge of flatlining when we managed to find you in the valley.” Mitch replied, handing V his waterskin. The bedridden nomad sucked the water out almost immediately, wetting his lips doggedly. “Teddy said, with every intention, that you should be dead.”

“…well maybe I should be,” V grunted as he handed Mitch the waterskin. “Guess somebody here isn’t exactly happy about that.”

Mitch laughed a dry and gravelly version that seemed to exhale instead of inhaling. “Happy about you being dead, or being alive, because I can count one for each side at this point.”

V sighed again, trying to move only to find that he still couldn’t. His legs felt stiff, unmovable objects that existed just to stop V from ever moving again. He kept one hand on the small wooden hold that kept him upright in his bed. His clothes felt loose, a pair of loose shorts and a heavy number of bandages wrapped around his chest and gut. The skin that he could still see was purple, blue or yellow. He took a deep breath, before letting out the little breath he managed to catch as he realised how much damage he’d really taken.

“Let me guess. Panam wants me dead, and Saul wants me alive.” V managed to crack a smile, forcing another throaty laugh from Mitch. “What, am I wrong?”

The former panzerboy nodded as he handed V the skin again, the nomad drinking the water slower than the last time. “Just about. Panam and Scorpion were the ones that saved your ass from the heat sink of a valley. Saul didn’t want you here at all.”

“Mhm, why? Because he knows that if I could stand, I’d fuck him up for what he’s planning?”

“Something along those lines, because he thinks selling out to PetroChem is the only way to secure ourselves against the Raffen Shiv,” Mitch muttered. “I’ve got my concerns, but as of now, it looks like it’s set-in-stone. We’re selling out, or like he says, cashing in.”

V growled, outstretching a hand as Mitch pulled out a wheelchair. “Yeah, cashing in on a bad hand. Also, fuck you. I can walk.”

“V. Move your legs.”

“I can’t!”

Mitch smirked. “Exactly, now come here.”

“You’re not carrying me into the wheelchair, Mitch. I refuse, you are not my knight in shining armour.” V grunted before Mitch’s arms dug under his own. “Mitch, I swear to god, put me down!”

He couldn’t do anything other than fuss and whine as he felt himself get dragged from the bed, Mitch grinning as his two-tone legs were freed from the covers of his bed. They dangled limply before he felt himself being placed roughly into the old wheelchair. The leather was rough, hewn together as Mitch soon managed to place his feet in the footwells. V’s sense of humour was admittedly dark, something he’d inherited from military life, but the thought of him being disabled after a rough tumble off a cliff was just pathetic.

Mitch tried to push him, but V had soon forced the panzerboy away from the handles of his wheelchair as he found the grips to push himself around the camp. The sun was falling, and if he had to place it, it was probably around six in the afternoon. The movement from the chair was rough, the wheels weren’t exactly made for riding around in the desert on sand, and rock and rubble. He noticed that the cantina truck was louder than everywhere else in the camp, everyone settling under the awnings and coverings as they settled down for the dinner at the end of the sunny day.

“You want anything from the truck?” Mitch asked.

“Coffee, black as night,” V replied, looking into the campfire. “When can I walk again?”

“When Teddy decides to turn on your cybers again. He’s put a block on so you don’t stress or tax your brain into burning out your synapses.” Mitch admitted, heading off to the cantina. “Wait there.”

_No chance of that, Mitch. Where’s Saul?_

V had scanned the camp once again, his eyes drifting over the white and beige fabric that was nailed into the ground before he set his sights on the largest tent, a large black stripe in the middle of the fabric, that was just away from the fire. Twisting and setting his sights on the entrance, V pushed himself forward. As he approached, the sounds of polite chattering and disjointed laughter died out, being slowly replaced by the sounds of angered shouting coming from the clan leader’s tent. The gruff voice that was most definitely Saul’s, one that was cut off in favour of a youthful woman. The fact that she was as loud as she was, gave it away.

Of course, who else would it be other than Panam? Every tinge of her voice was there, highly-strung, emotional, ready to fight whenever she could sense a fight was to be had. He just about managed to wheel himself over. He struggled at first, the wheels trundling and rumbling as he rode over rocks on the way. He stretched out a hand to pull the fabric away, using his free hand to wheel himself inside the tent as the shouting finally reached the apex.

“You are selling us out when you said you wouldn’t! What happened to the Aldecaldo spirit, Saul? Why can’t you just admit that we’re not thriving, shit, we’re not even surviving!”

“This is the only way that we stay safe, that we don’t have to worry about being murdered by the Raffen Shiv!” Saul shot back. “How can you not see this; we can’t leave the city like this! We’re weak!”

Panam pushed him. “Because of you! You don’t let us raid, don’t let us go out into the city, you don’t let us hunt the Raffen as we know how!”

V coughed aloud, causing the two notable nomads to turn at the source of the sound. It seemed silly, especially considering V’s threatening stature whenever he stood tall, that he wheeled himself around the camp as an invalid. He pushed himself forward, aiming directly for the camp leader before he stopped right in front of Saul, staring directly into the eyes of clan leader Saul Bright.

“Here he is, our clan’s own stalker. Welcome back, V.”

“Fuck you, Saul. I saved your ass.” V grunted, refusing to back down. “I should have left you to rot. First, you exile me, and then you decide to have the fucking cheek, to sell out my clan, my dad’s clan! If I could stand up right now, I’d beat your ass in front of this camp.”

Saul sneered. “But you won’t, because you can’t.”

V leaned forward. “Try me, asshole. I could kick your ass with my hands tied behind my back, blindfolded.”

Panam dropped to a crouch, her hand immediately fell over V’s own. “V, there’s no point. He’s too stubborn to see what he’s doing is going to be the end of this Aldecaldo chapter. He’s selling out to the corpos.”

Saul grimaced at both of them. “It’s not selling out! We have to make this choice, we have to cash in on the goodwill we barely have, for our own sakes! The closest nomad market is in Boise, and we don’t have security or tech to make it out of Granite Pass, or the water to cross the Valley. This is it, this is the end of the line!”

Panam scoffed, and V shook his head before he turned back to look up at Saul. “Because you won’t let them, you dumbass! Panam said it best, if you don’t let nomads do what they’re good at, what are they gonna do? They can’t leave, because you won’t let them!”

V noticed Saul’s fists clenching before he leant over, face to face with V. “You haven’t travelled with this clan in ten years, and you think because you stayed here for five days where I couldn’t lead is enough for you to understand what it’s like to lead a clan this small, with little chance of moving out? You are Raffen Shiv, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

The ex-nomad spat in Saul’s face. “If that’s all I’ll ever be, it would still be better than being a leader who sells out his people. You didn’t deal with corpos for seven years, you never worked behind a desk, never had to do the dirty work on people you knew. All you’ve done is sign your own death warrant. You know what corpos do, to people like you?”

Panam’s hand pushed back on V’s shoulder. “That’s enough, V. We’ve said our piece, we can’t make him listen…”

Saul wiped away the spittle, his eyes burning a hole in V’s head before a palm slapped him dead across his cheek. “Tell me then, V. Tell me what corpos do to people like me, people who care.”

V let out some guttural sound, animalistic, bitter and angry. _“Let him know, V. Really let it out, tell him what you know, seven years of shit. Let him have it.”_

“They get rid of you.” V started. “Because you’re the first one to get cold feet. Maybe they’ll concrete your feet and throw you in the ocean. But not only do you care, they already know you’re a turncoat. You already sold out your own people, because you’re a pretty cold-hearted bastard. Automatically, they’d be a gonk to ever trust some piece of shit who’d sell out his own family. That means, they’d have no regrets about zeroing your ass as soon as it became rewarding for them to do it. Because that’s what being a corpo is like, it’s being ice-cold, not having a heart.”

Saul grinned. “That it?”

“Oh, that’s just the start. As soon as you’re gone, they’d have nobody to look to, not that it would matter. Some of them might try living in the city, they’d die sooner rather than later. This is Night City, after all, you dragged them here and that’s your fault. Whoever stays, well, they’re basically slaves. You signed their freedoms away for ‘safety’ when all safety means is having some bigger guns and letting them do whatever they want with you. You know what I found out when I was in Militech, Saul, it’s how dirty everyone is, especially the ones who like to say their clean and innocent. You want to sell out, to Biotechnica and PetroChem? Go ahead, as long as you know that everyone here is gonna be used as guinea pigs and test subjects for experimental cyberware and new medicines!”

Saul growled again. “I’m doing this for us, I’d never let that happen!”

“You already are!” Panam argued. “It’s either the Raffen or the Corpos with you, and you’re hamstringing us by not letting us take risks to get stronger. I had a lead on a fixer who worked solely with Nomads, and you didn’t even let me go and meet her. We could be neck-deep in tech and supplies to leave, but you are so concerned with us surviving, you won’t even let us thrive!”

V finally turned to look at Panam, and then to Saul. “Any true nomad would rather die, before even considering selling out to a corporation if they knew what it was like. You’re nothing to them.”

Saul’s fists remained clenched. “You’d rather die free? You were a corpo yourself.”

“I was born free, and I lived in chains ever since I left until I broke free again,” V announced. “I’d rather die before ever shackling myself to a corporation again. If you lived in Night City, seen who really run this place, you’d feel the same. I’d rather die a free man, than live in chains, and I’d make that choice every single day.”

Saul was silent, and Panam had soon given up even looking at the older camp leader. V couldn’t help but think that he looked haggard, and despite how much V vehemently disagreed with his choices, V could see when a man was truly broken. Losing people was tough, losing the support of your own people was tough, but he had to come back stronger if he was ever going to prove his mettle as a leader. He was dejected, as he pushed his bushy mop of hair back and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He’d started to tense, and then the pacing began. Panam moved behind V’s wheelchair, but V did not falter as he watched Saul. It was odd, the thought of the two younger nomads watching as their leader stomped from side to side as he tried to think of a way out. Desperate, looking down every avenue for answers except the one that made the most sense to him. Nomads weren’t risk-averse. Living life on the road was dangerous, it was just a fact of life.

Saul used to be a role model, someone the kids at the camp back in the day could look up to as a figure to aspire to be. Panam would get angry when a younger Saul refused to let her on a raid or a trip out for supplies, V would occasionally be honoured when Saul asked him to fix his bike or truck as if it was deity selecting him to be the chosen prophet of a holy message. Now, Saul was older.

_“Life breaks people. He’s broken, V. He needs to build himself back up, and that takes time.” Johnny whispered in the back of his mind. “So, do you.”_

_V understood. “We need to do this for him. He can’t lead like this.”_

_“And you can’t operate when you’re hiding away from what’s happened. Until we know we can fight back, we need to stay out here. Shaitan will know what to do next, so will Rogue.”_

Saul waved them out, waved them away. The wheelchair-ridden nomad backed up, only for his head to bounce lightly off Panam’s stomach. Her hands had gripped the handles of his chair, turning him around and wheeling him out as Saul thought to himself. Scorpion and Mitch were sat at the cantina truck, Mitch sipping gently at the black coffee that V had asked for before he wheeled himself into an argument. As they came out, V barely had the will to stop Panam from pushing him around the camp. They’d walked (and wheeled) through the masses of tents before they finally arrived at the tent nearest to the cliff that looked out over the city in the distance.

V had to admit, that after every thought of Night City, he always hated the place. It was condensed, pressed together, everything was too small and too tightly packed. Yet, from afar, it was a jewel in a broken crown. He’d tired of manufactured air, fake people, he hated the constant blaring of advertisements that impeded his every thought. The thoughts, that he barely kept to himself.

Thoughts of Adam Smasher. What he did, what he admitted to doing. How V was stupid, so careless and benign to ever think of just calling to see what Meredith wanted. Could he have saved her, could he have ever made a difference if Smasher outclassed him in such a way that he was nothing but an ant, and Smasher was a child with a magnifying glass. Taking out his eye was the most satisfying thing, and it barely made a difference to the borg. He still choked the life out of him, he still was the one that got thrown off a cliff and died in a godforsaken valley in the middle of a dead California.

Every memory of her seemed distant, fading, reminiscent of a time where V had a mask stitched to his face. He wasn’t a nomad; he wasn’t a happy-go-lucky triggerman who got off on performing hair-brained schemes that were successful based on the link he had with Panam. No, with Meredith he was some slick corpo-rat who wore a suit, drank expensive alcohol and ate expensive meals at any time of the day.

Her real skin against his own synthetic epidermis, receptors that made it feel as if their touch was organic like it was meant to be authentic and heartfelt. Maybe it was, from one side of it. They were weak, for each other. There was a fervent, unfeigned love, and V had always told himself that it was just the sex that they were both after but it wasn’t. There was love, and it was dead.

That had been killed. Murdered, by some pale imitation of a man who valued blood and guts and death over everything that mattered more than the death and fighting and the inevitable battle. Smasher destroyed something real, something rare that couldn’t be reproduced in the capitalistic hellfire that was Night City, a man-made scourge that existed as a never-ending, oncoming storm.

He hadn’t realised how far out he’d been before Panam had waved her hand in front of his face. “V, you there? You spaced out for a minute there.”

V shook himself out of his depressive stupor. “Yeah, just thinking. Saul needs help.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. I thought you’d be the last person to help him.” Panam replied.

“In any other case, I would be. Said so when we saved him last time, but he’s so desperate he turned to corpos. You guys are lucky he hasn’t signed over the papers yet.” V grunted. “I think I can help, but it means we’d have to operate outside of his purview.”

“Sounds like corpo-speak to me,” Panam muttered as he was soon wheeled underneath the grey material of Panam’s tent. She’d soon managed to barely haul V up and into a small little couch, that she’d taken for herself. “I take it you mean we have to go on a raid without his permission.”

V nodded. “Been waiting for the day for me to have to ask you to do something that goes against the camp. Never thought I’d live to see it.”

Panam was quiet, if only for a small moment before she soon took V’s place in his wheelchair. The black and red jacket that was draped over her was soon discarded, thrown on a litany of bags of other things that V assumed were Panam’s things. She looked at him, smirking before she wiped the look off her face as she tried to contain herself. She soon stood up, pushing his wheelchair next to her bed before she had crouched in front of him, her eyes looking into him as her hands laid themselves on his.

She let out a stressed sigh. “I thought you wouldn’t wake up again when we found you.”

“Neither did I, Panam. I’m pretty sure I should be dead.”

Panam nodded as if she were consoling herself. “Teddy said the same thing. He put Mitch on the watch when he had to get some more medical supplies from the city without Saul knowing. He said you were basically on the way.”

V nodded, because what else could he do? Say he felt grand and jolly and ready to get back at them? No, he wasn’t. He could barely walk, his sub-dermal armour around his lower spine needed taking out, he could feel the plate digging, grinding against his bones. He felt pain, for once after such a long time of feeling immune to it, he could say he felt physical pain after being almost killed.

“V, I…” Panam began. “…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For kissing you, in the cabin after we saved Saul. I left because I needed to think to myself. I didn’t know what I was doing, I was drunk, we were both drunk and I was stupid. I was really fuckin’ stupid, and I needed to think about what I wanted from this place, from you, just from life, I guess. When I came back, you were gone and then the next time I see you, you were half-dead.”

V’s head shuffled, drooping down and left to right. “Panam, it’s okay. I understand. As soon as the camp is ready to leave, you have to go with them, I understand. I can’t be with you.”

Panam looked down, and V had realised to some extent that he had a talent at breaking people. Her head bobbed up and down, heavy breathing before she looked up at him as she tried her best to contain her laughter. “V, all I could think of was that I missed you. Everything I remember, with you, memories of us. I want you to come with us, I want to…”

“Want to what?”

“Please don’t make me say it. You know what I want.” Panam and V finally locked eyes. “I want to be with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was quite dialogue-heavy, but there was a lot of heat lifting that needed to be done in that area for everyone. Other than that, I need to show that V is not invincible. Consequences exist, and whilst he might be able to walk again, it's not as simple as that. Other than this, the next chapter is going to be very VxPanam oriented, mainly because I feel bad for leaving you on two cliffhangers in a row.  
> -Apollo


	33. Love is a Laserquest

**_29/09/2077  
Aldecaldos Camp, Outside Night City  
Californian Badlands  
V  
_-  
**V had managed to soon pull himself from the single-seater couch, bumbling and fumbling for his wheelchair to roll himself out before he caused more issues. The ex-corpo wanted to curl up into a ball and waste away in the sand. He’d pushed her away as he crawled across the floor before he managed to pull himself into the uncomfortable chair. He felt flush and soon enough, he went pale, the blood rushing from his face as soon as the bad thoughts rushed to his head.

The beating from Smasher, the very open-ended concepts of what he had done to Meredith pulsed and surged at the forefront of his mind’s eye. Did he break as many bones as he could, stab into her and slice away until she was a limbless invalid? Was it some kind of personal pleasure? He sounded happy when the borg told V that he had murdered her to find out anything about him, sounded delighted in thinking of every constant action that could cause pain.

He knew his name. The name he’d taken as a pseudonym so he could attempt to disassociate, to tell the difference between the nomad and the corpo. The very different people that were Virgil McCall and the person he knew was him in the truest form, of V.

His hands fell soft against the wheels of his chair, pushing helplessly before Panam had put her hands against the handles of his seat. His eyes rushed around, panicked as his chest tightened, he pushed hard against the wheels before she had stopped him dead in his tracks. He rushed to gain control, trying to push harder to find the exit of the tent before he was pushed back. His breathing grew rapid. He felt his cheeks burning again before he felt the cold and soft palms of Panam against his cheeks.

Panam had held him down, keeping him from escaping. “V, it’s okay! V, just calm down. You’re safe with us, you don’t need to worry. Just, deep breaths. Okay? Five seconds in, five seconds out.”

“I need to go; I can’t stay here. They could track me, find the camp, kill you all.” V stressed, his breath intensifying. “It’s Arasaka, they were there. Adam Smasher, he was the one… He killed her, he killed Jackie. He’s after me, he has to be.”

Panam’s eyes widened for a moment before she managed to contain herself. “V, it’s okay. We’ve been scouting for the past week, we haven’t had Arasaka vehicles come out since we found you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I need to go.” V, with a sudden flash of strength, managed to push through Panam’s guard as he wheeled himself out. “Need to leave, need to go.”

_“V, you need to stop. It’s been a week since you got your ass kicked but you need to pick yourself up from that. Just because Smasher is messing with you, doesn’t mean you need to lose the cool. He killed Jackie and he killed Stout, but that needs to be it. We can’t let him do this again, kid. Nobody else is gonna be able to take him down. I couldn’t, Blackhand couldn’t, but together, we can do it.”_

The wheels of his chair stuttered and slipped in the light sands, swaying and putting V off from his course. He’d ended up turning to the cliff-face again, looking out into the distance to see the City of Dreams once again. The lights and advertisements, the echoes of the holographic advertisements as they purported every slogan and tagline for the citizens that were so loud, they could be heard from outside the city limits. The skyscrapers tore through the skyline, ant-like trails of light from light and heavy aerial vehicles as they slipped between the high-rises and cloud-breaking structures.

He'd tried focusing on every light, every skyscraper that towered over all the other districts. Then the small gatherings of the heavy freighters that seemed to float in and out over the desert, towards and away from the city. The gatherings of the freighters soon stopped, becoming rare as the time between each one grew longer and longer between each collection of aircraft. V was silent, he’d managed to collect his breath as he looked out to the mega-city from afar. He locked his wheelchair in place, his eyes locking to the city as he just sat mute at the edge of the camp. His thoughts had floated between the people in the city and the people in the camp.

Panam, Saul, Mitch & Scorpion, Teddy and Cassidy. Each person that could die if Arasaka ever found out it was the Aldecaldos that were his true family, where his home was. They’d send Smasher on a massacre. He could see it vividly, every image. He’d shoot down every single man, woman and child with a smile on his malformed skin-plate. He’d take pleasure in ending the lives of the older members, all he’d have to do was just lay a hand on Teddy and Cassidy, and they’d croak. They’d be no match for a borg like Smasher.

He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to have to see the mechanical form of that psychopathic, evil, sadistic fucking robot ever again. If he had to, he’d want to see it decommissioned. He’d see it torn apart by buzzsaws, melted down or crushed in a hydraulic press. Every form of violence, he wished it upon Smasher. His imagination was giving him every lurid detail for how much he wanted to zero that red-eyed bastard. Then it would swap, taunt him with how much he failed, how many different methods that could have been used on Meredith to get her to talk, to get her killed.

_“I’ll kill him. I’m going to fucking kill that bastard. I hope he begs, I want him to beg.”_

_Johnny appeared, sitting on the edge of the cliff. “Careful you don’t start thinking like him, V. Last thing I want is to be sitting inside the brain of a pre-borged Adam Smasher wannabe bitch.”_

_“He’s taken everything from me.” V wanted to snap. “He took Jackie from me, he took Meredith from me. He could take everyone and everything I know. He needs to die, they all do, Smasher, Takemura, Saburo, they all need to go.”_

Hours had passed, the last essence of the pink sky slinking away into the darkness, an obscuring inky black that smothered out every star in the sky. The wilderness and the sky felt smothered, the night falling and strangulating every stray source of light between the camp and the desert. The campfire from the centre had slithered from behind V, the flickering flame illuminating the long fall that he would suffer if he were to unlock his wheels and just push himself forward that little bit. The idea of ending it all, he would have lied if he hadn’t thought of it many times, more so when he was younger and still involved in the corpo lifestyle.

The stress of the job, the constant thrill of searching through every nook, cranny and hidey-hole to get what was needed before a deadline or so somebody else didn’t fuck up and blame it on him. How every other day, he’d have to rush into the slick, well-decorated bathroom and throw up his lunch when he couldn’t suppress the urge when in his cubicle or travelling between floors or buildings. Even when he had advanced, become more than just some external investigator, or some pencil-pusher for another unimportant desk-jockey, that stress, pressure and need to succeed at all costs never left.

That was where Meredith came in, she provided some small grace in which she had helped him. He’d been substituted into Cypher-9, and with her at first, being his superior, she’d given him the tour and the general instruction guide that consisted of ‘report everything, don’t fuck up, and make sure she knows of any plans to get on the ladder first’. She’d offered medications, psychological health representatives to keep files on ‘Virgil McCall’ when she’d realised how useful he actually could be. He thought outside the box, he wasn’t limited to seeing everything through a corporate lens, he saw everything in a grand scheme, as a solo or as a cohesive unit.

Not bad for some jumpy, up-start corpo-rat. She’d written a few recommendations, figured he’d be a better tool than a busy-body. All things she had said in the pillow talk they would occasionally have. Of course, he excelled as a soldier and had risen through the ranks quicker than she expected. Militech had given him success, a life he had most thoroughly deserved due to his dedication and diligence.

V wanted to curse, he wanted to vomit at every single taunt and mocking jab that she ever threw at him. Her cold nature, teasing, alluring sense of self lured V into her web and trapped him forever. She loved him, and he hadn’t had the guts to reciprocate or break it off or go by the rules they had. It was just a benefit, an outlet. They weren’t input or output for each other, they were just co-workers who would fuck.

_“She’s dead, V. No time to linger on thoughts of what you could or should have done. Can’t change the past. That’s all there is to it.”_

“What if he lied, Johnny? What if it’s manipulation?”

_“You think Smasher is the type for that kind of warfare? He’d rather inflict the pain himself before he kills you. What he said on the cliff, it was the final word. He’d figured you out, scared you before he thought he killed you. If he said she’s dead, she’s dead and if Smasher did it, there’s no way she’s alive.”_

V shook his head. “I need to find anything on him. I need to know what makes him tick.”

_“Violence, violence and more fuckin’ violence, V.” Johnny grunted, turning towards the wheelchair-bound soldier. “He’s a psycho, cybered out of his mind. Maybe this is advanced cyberpsychosis, a plateau of how fucked up cyberware affects the mind. I don’t know, I’m not a ripper.”_

“Somebody has to know something. He’s Adam Smasher.”

_“And people don’t want anything to do with him, because he’s a fucking bad omen. He’ll come for you, it’s a case of you being prepared for him and being everything, he isn’t. Quick, precise, strategic. Smasher is just anger and bloodlust, mixed with a little of metal, plating and dry ice that throws his weight around. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not that. We need to get fixed.”_

From what V knew, the rippers for the camp didn’t exactly have the stock or the gear to replace sub-dermal plating. Torn and cracked, damaged goods just like he was. He remained focused on the city, and soon enough he could make out the light footfalls coming from behind him. He faltered, falling from his own world that revolved entirely around the City of Dreams when he turned around.

Of course, she was there. She had a bottle of suds in her hand, two, in fact, the necks of the bottles held between her fingers. She was silent, looking at him with something akin to sadness or disappointment. He was not what she deserved, and most definitely not what she would have wanted. There was nothing similar between the V that left the camp, and the one that sat disabled in a wheelchair that sat staring into a city that ate people up to spit them out. V had unlocked his chair, pushing away from the cliff before he turned to face Panam, as she offered him the bottle.

“That was, something else. Thought you’d at least say no before trying to run away.”

V smothered the thought of laughing at himself. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to, it’s just, I don’t know. It’s a bad time.”

“It’s okay, I get it. You need time to think too.”

“Panam, I…” V struggled, taking the bottle that she offered. “I don’t think you realise that it feels wrong to be here, I can’t travel with you, I can’t leave this city. People here, need my help. People like Judy and Evelyn.”

“You can’t travel with us, or you won’t?” Panam asked, popping the caps of the bottles. “because I won’t leave you behind here, this city. I know I haven’t been here for years like you, but what I’ve seen here. The scavvers, the amount of Raffen, the gangs, it’s not safe.”

“Nowhere is, not in this part of the NUSA,” V grunted before he took a heavy sip from the bottle. “Night City is a shithole. Don’t think it’s ever not been. Europe was different. Nice, peaceful even.”

Panam looked shocked. “You’ve been to Europe?”

“Once or twice, corpo business mostly. Pleasure too.”

Panam smiled. “How was it? Didn’t take you for the guy who liked fancy places.”

V remembered Italy. He’d spent a lot of time in Sorrento, mostly on a corporate payroll but regardless, it was the most comfortable he’d ever felt. “You can say that until you sleep on a luxury mattress and a pillow filled with genuine feathers. Think I might go back when this business is done.”

Panam’s hand slid over his. “You really wouldn’t come with us, come with me?”

V’s fingers intertwined with hers. “Panam, I have lost everything I ever had twice over. Losing the clan, and now I lost Jackie and, and I don’t want to lose you or any of the others. I don’t want to risk it. I risked everything, and I lost Jackie and…”

“And?”

“And I lost Meredith. She, helped me a lot. Like Jackie, but in other ways.”

There was a small silence when he said the words. He felt like he was being psychoanalysed again, something he hated so much when he was in Militech but that was because the psychotherapist was so robotic, V felt uneasy talking to him. Panam was a friend, more than a friend in more ways than one, that telling her the whole truth felt more secure and safe than it did telling the shrink. There was no reason to lie, not when it would have been so easy to call him out for doing it. Coming to terms, realising that nothing was the same anymore, Jackie and Meredith weren’t there. Panam was all he had, all that connected him to a life outside of Night City.

“Did you love her?” Panam asked, V’s hand squeezed tight in her own.

V struggled to vocalise, but the tension and pain in his face as he tried to find the words said enough. “I think so. I know that she did at some point before Smasher got her, but she deserved better. Better than I could give her.”

Panam nodded. “You need time, to heal and to think about what you want, but what you need too. V, I know it seems early, but I want to be with you. If you aren’t ready, then I won’t push you into it. But, like I said, I’m here for you because you’re my friend. You might not like it, but you are my people and I don’t give a shit what Saul says because you’re one of us. You’re an Aldecaldo.”

The nomad girl had polished off the bottle, tossing the glass off the side of the cliff as she looked at V. He had turned to the city once again, watching it like it was going to disappear, like every light that shone from the streets, air and skyscraper would go out and never return. He’d finished off the bottle soon after, tossing it off the side much like Panam had done too. He turned to her and seen that she was looking out to the city, but she would occasionally look back to the fire, to the centre of the camp. He felt cold, the frigid winds brushing over exposed skin, making him shiver. He was still wrapped in bandages and shorts.

Panam had rectified the situation, her tattered brown leather jacket fell from her shoulders before she laid it softly on V’s lap. It was warm, body heat from Panam sinking into the stitching as V pulled it up to his chest. She wasn’t wearing the beige bodysuit underneath, instead, she'd slung a tool belt around her hips as a loose blue vest flickered in the wind as a small holster dangled from under her left arm. In the small amount of time, he’d been awake, he already missed walking and standing, and he felt naked without the familiar feeling of cold steel and the smell of gunpowder.

He hoped Saul would come to his senses, sooner rather than later so the clan could still make their way out of the behemoth-like task of breaking away from the worst city in America. He did feel somewhat safe though next to Panam, even if she was armed slightly less than he would have liked. He thought about it, and it said much more about him than he liked when he felt safe around guns than he did without them.

“I’m not going to lead you on, Panam,” V admitted from his seat, looking as her brown eyes peered into him. He felt like melting. “I want to be with you too, but, I’m not the same person I was when I was a kid.”

“I know, V. I know. I don’t care about the nerdy little kid who was two years days younger than me who was shy.” Panam admitted. “I care about you. The kid, the soldier, the ex-corpo, the Aldecaldo. I care about you, V. All of you.”

V couldn’t really approach her, due to his legs not being turned on at the request of Teddy and the rippers. All he could do was open his arms, beckoning Panam closer. The fierce nomad girl hadn’t resisted the urge to come to him, crouching at the side of his chair as her arms wrapped around his shoulder as he leant into the cuddle as much as he could. He didn’t deserve Meredith, nor did he deserve Panam. Yet, even in his honesty, Panam didn’t care. She was better, a better person than V could have ever hoped to be, more understanding than anyone else he knew.

In his internal strife, in his negativity, he had imagined that she would barely look at him. He wasn’t virtuous or virginal, he wasn’t pure by any means. His idea that she would despise him for that was unfounded, stupid and extremely obnoxious when he managed to admit it to himself. He’d lived as a corpo for so long, that seven years made him so utterly self-focused that he knew the world revolved around him.

That was no longer true. Panam had stated that it was time to go back inside, that the desert chill was starting to get to her too. She had been the one to push him around quite literally, wheeling him through the sand as they entered her tent once again. She’d parked him up into the nearest space next to the bedframe. Taking her jacket off his chest, she’d turned on the small heat lamp to keep them warm through the night. She’d thrown it into one of the four chests that held her belongings before she turned back to V, hauling him onto her bed. He’d tossed and turned, trying to find some small comfort on a bed that barely fit for someone of his size.

He eventually found his spot where he could sleep. He was facing the exit of the tent, which had soon been zipped up. V closed his eyes, listening to the clumsy shuffling of Panam as she discarded her boots and socks. As much as he felt like a leering jerk, V’s eyes squinted open slightly. She’d thrown her toolbelt and holsters away, undressing as she found a spare blanket from her belonging that she threw over her shoulders. The shifting heavy blanket revealed parts of her that V only wished he could begin to fantasise about caressing and holding against him.

The feel of her skin against his silver hand, the crook of her neck where he could begin to lay down a pattern of gentle kisses in the late morning before she woke up. Loose strands of hair that hadn’t been twisted and forged into her dreads, dangling loosely against her cheeks that he could brush softly behind her ears. Memories of better days fluttered by, as V found himself swimming through times where he was younger.

He saw himself, a skinny little runt that was only just beginning to pack on muscle unlike the rest of the boys he knew, his skin a little paler than the rest since he spent so much time in the shade or under a car. He never wore anything emblazoned with the icon of the clan, always wearing grease-stained dungarees or grey overalls, his tool belt and apron loosely tied around his waist and back.

Then there was Panam. He couldn’t have been more enamoured with her. He felt himself melting away whenever they scoped each other from different sides of the camp, her eyes digging into him with an intensity that couldn’t be matched. Her skin, dark and exotic and everything that V wasn’t. The small spattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose that bridge across and just ever so slightly under her eyes. He remembered her hair, how it wasn’t always styled like the dreadlocks that she had meticulously grown and tied together into the messy bun she had at that time. It was always luscious and wavy, it flickered in the wind and when the wind was gone, it seemed to settle at her shoulders.

Youthful thoughts of them sitting by the campfire were a memory that seemed closer than ever before, kissing her was a true event that he wished he could have savoured before everything went to shit. The taste of powerful moonshine and dark chocolate lingered on his tongue before they fell asleep. When he was sixteen, he wondered what it felt like to kiss her, to hold her close at the campfire and hold her close as somebody (usually a drunken McCall would play something on the guitar, or Cass would regale the younger kids with tales from his lead-slinging days) held their attention.

He smiled as he stopped squinting and just looked at her, the peaceful and serene look on her face before it was interrupted with a smirk. One of her eyes opened, causing V to close his eyes in response. “V?”

“Hmmm?” He feigned trying to sleep.

“I know you were peeking.” Panam commenting, forcing V to scoff. “Go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slight delay, got caught up in how to approach this chapter without going with the standard argumentative nature of V and Panam, and I figured that they were both old enough and wise enough to realise when grief and trauma is a thing.  
> -Apollo


	34. Figure it Out

**_1/10/77  
Abandoned Sixer Compound, Heywood District  
Night City, California  
Panam Palmer  
_-  
**Panam hadn’t spent that much time at the camp that morning, as much as she wanted to. She wanted to curl up on her bed, even if the large hunk of meat and cybernetics that was V was still slumbering under her covers. He was a heavy sleeper, but also a manic one apparently. He wasn’t neatly tucked in bed, his feet and arms lingered out from underneath, the blanket covering his torso whilst he had forced a pillow over his head. Anything else, her other pillows, the smaller blanket over her main one, the small teddy she had been given from her mother, all of them on the floor.

If he wasn’t crippled, she might have light-heartedly slapped him on the shoulder for being such a violent sleeper. However, he was still unable to walk and going through his own personal issues, bullying him for his sleeping habits was the last thing she wanted to do. What she wanted, was something he didn’t need at that very moment.

However, he had helped in his own way. He’d woke up not much longer after she had, he’d shoved a small shard in her hand and muttered ‘supply den’ in a half-hearted grumble before he went back to sleep. She’d brushed a hand through his head, the back of her hand gently stroking his chin before she’d left the tent and wandered through the sun for her a quick breakfast before she’d gathered Scorpion and Mitch in her truck.

The way into Night City had been quiet, the trio readying themselves to scout the den out for spare parts as they reached the city. The Warhorse had managed to get through the morning traffic well enough, and as soon as they managed to get into the suburbs of Heywood, they had gained more freedom on the road to drive quicker and more violently, like they would on the desert plains.

“What did V say about this place?” Scorpion had asked from the back of the truck. “Anything about scavs or gangers?”

Panam shook his head. “The shard mentioned it being owned by Arasaka, and it used to be guarded by Sixers. Other than that, any other dangers that we should be expecting by now. Nothing we can’t handle.”

Mitch scoffed. “Hate this place.”

“You hate every place that isn’t the desert.” Scorpion shot back. “You know what, anything that isn’t your tent, you hate.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Think I hate this damn city more than the Sandbox.”

Scorpion harrumphed. “Shit, it’s not that bad. I’d take this place over being shot at by tanks in the middle of Arizona in the summer.”

Panam had grown used to the pair, the former tank drivers had dealt with their issues, even if they occasionally popped up from time to time. They had been linked together for so long in their service as tank commanders, they’d often said to her when they’d returned from their tour that they felt connected in more ways than one. They had shared experiences, shared nightmares which she had spent many sleepless nights listening to their screams. Exasperated descriptions of neural damage that permanently etched the memories into their minds, a constant reminder of the fact that war never changed.

Neither did being a nomad, the constant driving from state to state, nomad market to nomad market. The only things that changed were the locale and the people, the ones that died in transit or were unlucky to die outside the camp that just disappeared. There was a rare few that managed to die in the camp, died surrounded by loved ones, buried and remembered as a nomad by the ones that remained.

Those melancholy thoughts had become more common when she had lost her mother, lost Jonah, lost hope of ever finding V as the camp grew worse. The camp was bleeding resources, and the security (or lack thereof) was becoming more a concern. Her actions (as well as V’s) had made the Raffen Shiv worse than they’d ever been, digging through dust and sand to look for the Aldecaldo camp that they knew was nearby. They needed supplies and they needed to move.

V helped in his own way, as his intel finally led her to the burnt-down entrance to the stockyard of the compound. Cars and equipment crates were flipped up and over, bodies remained in gruesome states of decay as the windows of the nearby apartment blocks that surrounded the stockyard was boarded up. As the truck parked up just inside, the trio of nomads got out slowly, taking in the dead battlefield.

Mitch looked around, taking the damage in. “V did this?”

“Shard said it was V and a friend on a gig, something like that,” Panam muttered, taking out the SMG that V had given her. “Let’s check this place out, he said there was some stuff we could take, and we need anything we can get.”

The three of them marched forward, Mitch and Scorpion holding two similar models of rifle as they entered the main vehicle bay of the building. Militech armoured vans flipped on their side as tools and equipment were splayed on the floor, unorganised chaos of items and wreckage as they scanned through to find anything they could. Before long, they heard a small commotion come from the nearby office as the three soon ducked underneath the window of the room. A language they didn’t understand, something that sounded vaguely Japanese was reverbing through the walls before the door opened.

Two guys walked through, clad in fancy jackets with a bright red tiger stitched into the back. Scorpion had rushed forward, ploughing into them with no remorse or mercy as one was thrown straight into the wall before a series of gunshots rang out. The sound was unpleasant, the echo remained to pound against Panam’s eardrums for a while before one more soldier ran through, late to the violence before he was absolutely powerslammed into the concrete floor by Mitch.

Panam stood up, her rifle dropping to her stomach as the conversation stopped. Scorpion had forged ahead, running upstairs and clearing it out before he’d returned a few moments later. Mitch had covered the rest of the ground floor, scanning through the office and utility room before Panam had even approached the one room they hadn’t searched through. The door was locked, but the building plans on the shard had registered it as a large stockroom of sorts, holding loot that would most definitely be appreciated.

“Weren’t any keys, were there?” Panam asked before started fiddling with the electronic lock.

Mitch and Scorpion grunted at each other before they stood in front of the door. In one slick, synchronised movement their hands had tightened and cracked the hinges and the locks of the door, sliding it away and soon off the hinges. Panam had walked through the doorway without care, followed by the two former tankies. Looking around, Panam had definitely seen why V had handed her that shard. The room was filled with storage crates, stacked up on shelves and on top of themselves before Scorpion had managed to crack one open. A small cold fog slithered out from underneath the lid.

Sets of last generation TechWarrior operating systems, perfect replacements for old parts that were going out of use for the more heavily cyberized members of the clan. Other crates had arms, legs, neural patchwork and synthetic fibres that would easily be put to good use in the right hands of the right ripperdoc. Some boxes contained armaments, useful for security but not enough to keep the Raffens away for good.

“Well shit, V was right.”

Panam shrugged. “We need something heavier, something that’s gonna tell the Raffen to shit, or get buried in the sand.”

Mitch looked as if he were about to gawp at her. “You realise, if this is a good score, the only heavier we get is by raiding a corpo convoy out in the desert. There’s a chance we could get some bad attention to us that we don’t need.”

Scorpion looked to his brother in arms. “She’s right though. We’ve been drifting around on what we had in the stash, resting on our laurels that we weren’t ready for what happened on Granite Pass. Raffen Shiv, road collapses, car breakdowns. Now, we might be acting like shit is fine but we’re not. It might be the only way we can force a move.”

Mitch shook his head. “We’d be going against Saul, against the clan leader. I know V and Panam would like that but…”

“But nothing,” Panam stated. “It’s either we raid a corp, whether it’s Militech, Arasaka or Kang Tao or whatever military corpo is around or we die in the desert like some old coot who’s too stubborn to quit. We have to raid a corpo, and we have to do it soon.”  
**-  
Oil Fields, Northern Night City  
Rogue Amendiares  
-  
**The drive out to the north of the city had been one that Rogue had not made very often. She barely left Watson unless she absolutely had to, and the furthest she would have to go was Heywood or Corpo Plaza. Having to negotiate with some upstart gangoons that had found themselves on her shit-list, or some corpo that needed help that absolutely deigned to have her attention, she abhorred having to ever leave Watson, let alone leaving the Afterlife.

The fact that possibility of finding out whatever the Bartmoss signal contained had gotten her out of her shell, and by the shell, the area of which she controlled to the point where she could walk through an alley of scavvers or Maelstromers and not have to have Squama worrying for her safety. The drive up north, as had been pointed out by Shaitan and Squama was towards some oil fields that was one of the last places that actually had the black crude still in American land.

So, the trio of Rogue, Shaitan and Squama had all piled into Rogue’s Chevillon Thrax sedan as Shaitan took the wheel. They hadn’t been in much of a rush, which ended up forcing Rogue into the position of actually having to think about things she didn’t want to.

V, the upstart kid with a stiff upper lip and the silver arm replica of Johnny’s own. She thought he was smart enough to not fight Smasher, but for once, she was wrong. Wasn’t her fault, though.

Then her thoughts had somehow fallen into the pit of despair that housed every thought about Johnny Silverhand. That rockerboy with an ego the size of the goddamn universe, an attitude that could fuck over everyone in the blink of an eye. She never knew how Alt could have ever put up with his bullshit, especially when he got to the point where he was downing tequila, uppers and downers at every hour of the day. As annoying and useless he could be, she missed that bastard. He had a heart, he had balls of steel to say whatever the fuck he wanted and he didn’t care.

How Denny, Nancy and Henry ever got along with him due to their own issues was a mystery. Kerry was his most loyal follower; he would have followed Johnny to the ends of the earth before the chrome-rock band’s leader had gone off the deep end. Kerry went solo, from what she knew. Samurai’s music wasn’t exactly her taste, neither was Kerry’s solo stuff. He’d become a rockstar, he’d gone corpo, shit on every single thing Johnny and Samurai ever stood for.

She’d had a list of those she’d lost, the people she tried not to think about. Santiago, Johnny, Alt, and now she had to add Nyx and V. She barely knew the kid, but he was good and he didn’t bullshit her. That was what she could say, at least the kindest thing she could think of about the kid.

“Aye, Madame Rogue?”

“What’s up, Squama?” Rogue replied. “You okay?”

The large Haitian nodded. “I been thinkin’ if looking for Bartmoss is gonna help us, you know, regarding the issue.”

The silver borg turned to her briefly, before focusing on the road again. “The issue? What issue?”

“An issue called Adam fucking Smasher,” Rogue grunted as they drove past the large oil derricks, planted firmly in the ground. “That piece of shit has been walkin’ the earth for too long, killed too many people, he needs to go.”

Shaitan clicked his tongue, turning off the road and onto gravel tracks. “Gonna be a big issue trying to find him, and I’m not even thinking of trying to kill that bastard.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know you don’t, but unless you have a death wish like every other dumb fuck that tried to fight him, and I am including V in that group, he’s invincible.” Shaitan grimaced. “You can’t fight someone like that. He’s cybered out of his ass, no different to me, and then they wrapped him up in some Dai-Oni Power Armour. I can barely fight him, and I was actually having to try.”

Rogue crossed her arms, huffing. “I’ve been waiting for years to kill that bastard.”

“Hasn’t every single guy whoever had to look at his face.”

“Shaitan, you don’t what he’s done. You have a fraction of an idea of what he’s capable of. I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I ever have to do.”

Squama had been silent in the middle of the two solo’s argument, sliding back into his seat as the silver-skinned cyborg and the female mercenary continued discussing what Smasher was. A cyborg in power armour, wearing human skin like he was attending a masked ball. Some psychopathic soldier, with an attitude that hated whatever looked like it was more meat than metal. Squama hadn’t ever laid his eyes on the cyber-soldier (from what Rogue knew), but he had most definitely heard Rogue talk about him, using every possible curse she could have thought (in English or otherwise) to state how much she despised Adam Smasher.

The drive soon ended, as the trio got out of the sedan. A small metal shack in the middle of the oil field abandoned and surrounded by trash. The smell of oil was pungent, lingering and languishing in the air, similar to the smell of the rotting waste heaps outside the city further northwest. Squama remained by the car, heavy rifle in his hand as Rogue and Shaitan approached the shack.

The ramshackle hut was dark, soon fixed as soon as Shaitan’s eyes lit up and illuminated the one-room building. The metal of the walls was rusting, the steel grey malting and sloughing, grey material turning brown and dark red as the shack looked more and more likely to collapse right around them. All that was left inside the hut was a small wooden desk, the black wood rotting away as the pair approached.

The metal creaked and moaned, as Rogue opened the only unlocked drawer to find a holopad. She’d pressed her hand against the screen, only to reveal a lock screen with a ten second time limit being the first thing visible. Lines of code would appear every two seconds, and then the lock screen and timer would reset. Rogue tried to open it, followed by Shaitan even jack-wiring the device whereupon he received a nasty shock for his attempts at unlocking it.

The holopad started blaring before the code stopped running across the screen, a message running across the screen.

**“NICE TRY, BUT UNLESS YOU ARE WHO I THINK YOU ARE, YOU WON’T UNLOCK THIS BABY. YOU GUYS WHO LIVE IN REALSPACE, MOVE SO SLOW. IS GRASS GREEN, DO BIRDS FLY, DO CATS EAT BATS, DO RATS EAT NATS. SM XX”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very well aware that this chapter is short, but I felt extremely burnt out this week in regards to writing. Lots of stress, lots of worrying about RL and this chapter suffered a lot because of it. I'm gonna refresh, and the next chapter will be a lot better. I don't mean to delay on purpose, and I have no intention of abandoning this story in any way. However, I feel rather strained and I feel if I take some time to re-assess, then I (and this story) will be much better off. Sorry for the delay, guys.  
> -Apollo


	35. Trouble's Coming

**_03/10/2077  
Aldecaldos Camp, Outside of Night City  
The Badlands, California  
V and Panam  
_-  
**Panam had returned two days after she had left with Mitch and Scorpion. The black and red Warhorse’s truck-bed was filled to the brim with military crates and wooden boxes strapped by harnesses that looked a little flimsy when he focused too much on the truck. From afar, he could make out her coarse laughter alongside Mitch and Scorpion’s as they began to unload the truck with help from other camp members.

He'd given her the shard with the location of the compound the morning she had left, lazily shoving it into her palm before he fell back into the best sleep he’d managed to steal in a while. In those next three days, he’d limited himself to rolling around the camp. There wasn’t much he could do other than offer to help out and be turned down, after all, there wasn’t much an actual cripple could do in a Nomad camp other than being a nuisance.

There was a reason why he had forced himself to get as much cyberware as he had. Losing an arm or a leg forced him from doing what he was good at (whether he liked it or not was irrelevant) and if he could just swap out parts of himself, then why even worry about the consequences? His only reticence had been a full-body conversion, he didn’t want to be a brain in a jar under any circumstances.

He wasn’t like the Maelstromers, he wasn’t like Shaitan and he most certainly wasn’t like Adam Smasher.

_“You know, this might just have been the calmest and content I’ve been since two-thousand and six. Shit, it’s a wonder what a bit of sand, beer and campfire songs can do for the soul.”_

V had managed to sit away from most of the Aldecaldos. “That might be just about the biggest fucking lie ever told, in the history of Night City. Maybe forever, coming from the guy who used to mix his uppers and downers on a daily basis.”

_“Good point, but you know what?”_

“What?”

_Johnny appeared at that moment as his unmodified hand pressed towards the main campfire. “Being with the Nomads after my service in NUSA, probably the most content I’ve ever been before Night City dragged me in. Got some real good ideals, learnt what freedom really felt like. Never felt it again until you got jacked up by Bastard Smasher.”_

“Not anymore, won’t be much longer before we can walk again.”

It had been midway through the last day before he’d been called in by the camp’s rippers. With Doc Teddy’s blessing, they had decontaminated the main flatbed which carried the ripper gear for augmentation and cyberware. Then they had called him in, closed up the bed and started doing what they did best with Teddy’s help. They’d put him on a cocktail of drugs, legal and illegal and tied him down as they took a look at what remained of his spinal sub-dermal armour.

The pictures they had taken mid-operation had said all it needed to. The armour itself was cracked, broken into shards that had clipped against his spinal cord. His lower spinal cord had just barely dodged being obliterated. As soon as the operation had finished, Teddy had decided for the rippers to slowly start activating V’s cybernetics again, albeit slowly. When he woke up four hours later, he still couldn’t walk, but he could at least not have to drag himself around like he was a hundred pounds heavier than he actually would.

_“Thank God, we need to find Rogue and Shaitan as soon as possible. Find out whatever was on Bartmoss’ cyberdeck, and kick some ass ASAP.”_

V huffed. “Let’s walk before we run, Johnny.”

V remained far away from the rest of the camp, rolling around the grounds in solitude as his wheels slipped through the grains of sand as he moved about the camp. In some ways, he preferred it that way. The Aldecaldos were family (in more ways than one) but he struggled with how they made him feel about it, how he felt included in something after so long. V didn’t get attached, it wasn’t good for anyone, it wasn’t good for himself, it was the first lesson he learnt being in NUSA and working as a corpo. The person in the cubicle next door would quite literally stab somebody in the back for a promotion, the soldier to the left could easily get their head blown off in the first incursion, dead several times over.

There was no need for him to become attached anymore than he already was to the likes of Panam, Teddy and Cassidy. His presence, especially if he was being tracked like he had suspicions of, was a real danger to every innocent soul in the camp. He wasn’t going to be responsible for more deaths, and if not attaching himself to the camp was the way forward, then so be it. The sooner they left, the better.

He needed to find his own way, whether it was with a comrade or on his own.

As always, he found himself lingering on the edge of the cliff overlooking Night City again. It was a view he adored, how from afar it was quite literally a jewel of the Californian deserts that just beckoned and urged for more people to come inside. A tourist-trap in some aspects, a literal death-trap in others. He started twiddling his thumbs, mostly on purpose to keep himself from going crazy. He’d white-knuckled the handles of his chair to the point where they were shaking whenever he let his arms rest on them. He was more surprised by the fact that the wheelchair hadn’t collapsed under the weight of him, despite the groaning and crinkling of the rugged leather.

His HUD and his holo-cell still weren’t active. He’d begged Teddy to activate them as soon as possible, but the old doctor had spat some harsh words in response. Unless he wanted his brain to melt after such a heavy procedure and the damage he’d taken from the fall, he’d have to make do with being dead to the world for at least another few days. It was torture, forced withdrawal from a sardonic doctor who cared too much about the Ricciardo scion.

It wasn’t long before he could sense a presence behind him, someone tall and bulky lingered before they stood next to him. Saul, haggard and tired before he sat on the edge of the cliff. He sighed, ready for some kind of verbal battering that never came.

“V.”

“Saul.”

_“Just jack each other off and get this over with. Please…” Johnny groaned, appearing from nowhere as he laid back on the edge before he rolled off to his digital demise once more._

The two men languished on the cliff edge in silence for longer than necessary before V looked at the older leader. “I’m guessing you have something to say, Saul.”

“I was a fool and I’ve been a fool for so long and I never realised,” Saul admitted. “I spent so much time thinking I was doing the right thing for everyone, that I never stopped to look that we were barely surviving. Not letting us go out, never finding others who would join us after Granite Pass, not letting us go into the city. Everything I’ve done, I’ve been torturing the people of the camp.”

V grunted. Saul was broken, but he could be fixed. “You didn’t torture them; you just couldn’t see what was happening because you thought you were doing everything for the right reasons. It happens to every leader, at some point.”

“But I hurt them in the process.”

V turned his wheelchair to look at Saul. “You say that, but you kept them alive despite everything. You never gave them up to the Raffen Shiv. You aren’t a terrible leader, not in comparison to me.”

Saul shifted, squinting suspiciously at V. “What do you mean?”

V readjusted in the wheelchair, locking the wheels in place as he shuffled around to find a comfortable spot amidst the crinkling and creased leather. “When I first came back, when Panam saved me from the burning fuel station after we had killed Nash. I had a flashback or something like that.”

Saul pushed himself away from the cliff edge. “Flashback to what? When I exiled, sorry, when I forced you out?”

“No,” V muttered. “Time served in the NUSA military, during the Unification War. I got promoted to Staff Sergeant, basically forced into becoming a commissioned officer which I didn’t want. I wasn’t ready, I was too young. We ended up fighting in New Mexico, and I was leading my section into a kill-zone, based on info that was faulty. Trapped on a desert plain, me and twenty other guys just getting picked off in transit to the nearest firebase.”

The camp leader had placed a hand on V’s. “I’m sorry, V. I can’t say I know what you went through, but I know that whatever hit Mitch and Scorpion…”

“It’s not the same, Saul.” V gently pushed his hand, spurning the affection. “They managed to conquer their issues, but it never leaves you. The experience, the fighting, the gunfire.”

_The heat from the sun beat down on the two, even if it was slowly setting on the city and the camp just away from the border gate. It was hot but not as sweltering or arid as the heat in New Mexico. There was no city in sight, just a flat plain that had the faintest traces of radiation that were all but unavoidable for the entire company as they journeyed on to Santa Fe. The freeways had been torn apart, any sort of straightforward path from one base to the next bombarded to the point that nature seemed to be slowly regaining control of the southern states._

_The first thing that went was the tanks, the light panzers that had no chance of escaping the bombardment even if they weren’t as large as the heavy divisions. The trucks sped off, attempting to force themselves forward without armour. They were cut off by more artillery fire, more ordinance shelled out that ripped flesh and metal to bloody, burning bits. Staff Sergeant McCall had pushed them off the dead road, running into the sand in a panic to escape the killzone._

_It was no different. Snipers set up in the hills above, zeroing them left, right and centre in every second that passed. His section was down to thirteen men, no transport and no heavy armour. Of course, the free-staters had trapped the road, turned it into a highway of death for any poor soul that was wearing NUSA patches or tags._

_He remembered the feeling, arms wrapping around his chest as he was tackled into the burning sand by another soldier before his head was blown to bits. Crushed under the weight, V could barely move before he shuffled his arm at the wrong time. Some smart prick had set their sights on him, intent on flatlining him when he blew his left arm from his socket. Not one man survived but him._

The panic manifested in a shake in his left hand, where he managed to contain it temporarily when he white-knuckled grip of his wheelchair before it inevitably bent and folded under his cybernetic grip. “Shit.”

Saul had knelt in front of him. “You went off there, you okay?”

V shook his head. “About as okay as one can be after fighting in that fucking war. Pieces of shit never cared, not when they started, not when they signed legislation that made them states but not states. Left every soldier to rot. No job, no purpose, nothing to help the ones with rejection, nothing to help the panzer-drivers that they plied with drugs and ‘dorph to stay effective. Fucked us.”

“What do you need?” Saul asked. “Teddy can help, you know he will.”

The younger nomad sighed. “Just leave this fucking city, leave this state, leave the country if you can. Further away from the West Coast, the better.”

Saul shook his head that time. “What if something like Granite Pass happens again? If we lose any more people, it’ll be the end of the clan.”

“I won’t let that happen, Saul. This is my clan as much as it is yours.” V unlocked his wheels before he turned towards the camp, where he could see Panam sitting on the campfire couch. “Panam’s just saved you for the time, weapons, some augs and cyberware, but I know someone who can get you out and give you the shit you need to thrive. Car parts, food, real security. You and Panam can get the clan out, go to Alaska or Montana, go to a nomad market and stay in Middle America.”

The clan leader stood up at that, looking at the campfire as she chugged a beer alongside Mitch, Scorpion and the other camp members as the guitar slowly started playing, muted due to V’s and Saul’s distance away from the camp centre. V had followed suit, looking at Panam before turning to the city. The elder Aldecaldo offered his hand to V, who was distant before he observed Saul’s gesture.

“We can work together on this.” Saul stated. “I was wrong about you, you aren’t Raffen Shiv. I don’t think there’s been a time when you ever were.”

V was uncertain, but he took Saul’s hand nonetheless. “I’ll ping you when I get something from my contact. Now, go on. Camp needs you. Can’t be hanging around the cyber-cripple forever.”

The clan leader had soon gone off deeper into the camp, speaking to each member he came across in a way that a leader would do when he was concerned for his people. V tried to imagine himself in his position, would he have done the same in his position, would he have broken at all? Perhaps, he might have collapsed in his own way, got himself or other people killed as he had done in New Mexico. Militech was different, he wasn’t responsible for others in Cypher-9, despite it being a squad but they were all sufficient in their own right.

As he knew, corpo-work was just another self-centred occupation that worked for people without the burden of leadership on their shoulders. That’s what the pencil-pushers were for, give out the orders and let the people who could do the heavy lifting do the hard work. Working for the clan was everything that represented the opposite of working for a mega-corporation like Arasaka or Militech.

He couldn’t see himself fitting in, not then anyway. It took him years to really settle in a job, to succeed for himself.

He soon rolled past the centre of the camp, swiftly wheeling himself past the campfire and to the area of the settlement where the cars were all parked. Jackie’s Arch and his own Outlaw were settled tight and snug in the middle of the other vehicles. Pushing himself to his nomad-ified Outlaw, he’d pushed open the boot and dug through his bags and supplies until he found what he’d been looking for at the bottom of the furthermost duffel bag.

A burner phone, and old piece of crap from the thirties that he’d received as a favour from an ally many years back, just after he’d been fully wired into the Militech employment structure. He’d placed the old phone in his pocket, taking note of his mobile armoury. Jackie’s pistols sat snug on V’s hips, before he unclipped the belt they were strung up in before he slipped them into the trunk. Closing up, V had rolled between the cars until he came to the edge of the camp, far away from everyone else.

He took the phone from his pocket, sliding through the various protective protocols before the device finally unlocked itself. He checked his contacts, which ended up being pointless considering the only contact on his phone was the one who had gifted him the phone.

He’d selected their name, pressing the phone to his ear. It was a full minute before they answered. An accented voice began, exotic, a small Japanese twang to it. “Well, well, what a pleasant surprise. I’d never thought you’d call, Mr V.”

“I do like to keep people hanging when I need to,” V smirked. “How have you been, Miss Sanderson?”

He could hear a chuckle from the other side of the line. “Well enough, considering the news of my uncle’s death. Uncle Yorinobu was a brave man, least he was in his youth from what I know.”

V’s smirk fell, he knew well enough what it was like to lose someone who yearned for freedom. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Forget the condolences, Mr V.” The executive quickly pushed past the topic. “You called, and from what I remember I owe you. One of my detectives also apparently came across a counter-intelligence agent when looking for a kidnapping victim. Somebody named V, but I ran the name through the Militech database here at Danger Girl, and nothing came up.”

The nomad remembered River, the hulking PI who was looking for Dex too. “Sometimes we end up sharing a common goal. Besides, I left Militech a few months back. Don’t blame Ward, I wouldn’t question a counter-intel agent like me either, Michiko.”

“What do you want, V?”

He coughed a little, patting his chest. “I need any and all intelligence you have on Adam Smasher, where he’s been hiding out, where he’s operating out of, any officers he’s using to defer orders to. Supply stashes, anything you have.”

He could hear Michiko clicking her tongue. “That’s a very bold request. Smasher’s dangerous, we all know that. Why do you need his file?”

“Liquidation.”

“I would advise you that trying to liquidate Smasher is about as bad of an idea as trying to urinate on the doorstep of Arasaka Tower.” Michiko quickly replied. “Convince me why I should send it.”

V sighed, his hand patting on the un-bent handle of the wheelchair. “I can tell you who and why they killed your uncle Yorinobu. I don’t have the evidence but when I get it, you’d be the first to get it.”

“Respectfully, V, that sounds like a lot of nothing you’re offering.”

“Michiko, you owe me for what I did for you in New York. Your exact words were ‘Take this phone, and call me when you need something, big or small'.” V grunted in response, locking his wheels as it started to slip in the sand. “Look, whatever happens, is gonna happen. Whether I die or not, he’s not going to come for you because of your name. I want this for personal reasons, and it might just do you a favour too.”

Michiko muttered something in Japanese. “I knew Smasher long before he became what he is today. He wasn’t always bordering on the edge of cyberpsychosis.”

“That’s you, and for me, it’s all I’ve known him for. He killed my best friend, killed a close associate, took my arm and almost killed me twice. He has to go. It’s time for him to go before he does some real damage to somebody he shouldn’t. He needs to be scrapped.”

There was a long silence between the two. He had no doubt that perhaps before he was born, Adam Smasher wasn’t the guy he was in the present day. People could be born a psychopath, but not everyone totally indulged in it, not every single psychopath enjoyed causing pain and violence. However, some did, and Smasher was a unique take on that because all he was known to do was inflict pain. From what he knew, all he knew was that he killed, caused collateral damage for pleasure.

All he ever did, was kill and maim and rape and torture. Killing off the old borg was going to be doing a favour for every single person in Night City who could be killed by him whenever he decided to take a job that allowed for the occasional floods of blood he’d spill. V could end that thing, and whilst he indulged himself in doing that duty, he’d hoped that he would be known for killing the steel-skulled bastard.

The Danger Girl exec sighed. “I’m pinging them over now. Do whatever you’re planning, but I want that proof for who killed my uncle. As soon as you have it.”

“I can guarantee that you’ll be the first thing that gets it,” V replied. “Thank you, Michiko.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You actually have to follow through first. Oh, V?”

“Yes, Michiko?”

“When you go after Smasher, make sure that before you walk away, he stays dead. For both of our sakes. _Sayōnara_.”

The line went dead as soon as the Japanese executive finished speaking, the line cutting off before V could even reply. He’d slid the old phone back in his pocket as he let out a loud growl to the sand. Michiko Arasaka-Sanderson was perhaps the most influential contact that he could get a hold of, she was the head of Danger Girl, she was an Arasaka, the granddaughter of Kei, niece to Hanako and Yorinobu. He wouldn’t have called her if he didn’t need her help, and whatever she could send would have been of some use whether he needed it for an operation or not.

He wheeled himself away from the cars, pushing himself back into the camp when he saw the group at the campfire growing larger by the minute. Mitch had taken the guitar from somebody, fiddling and tightening the strings before he plucked, experimenting slowly before he found his familiar sound and started playing without issue. V could just about see a bottle of something in Panam’s hand before she caught sight of V on the border of the central camp.

She raised her hand, beckoning at him gently before she turned to the rest of the group. V had struggled for a moment, tried to resist the urge to join, but also resist rolling away to the solace he found more comfort in. He sat there for a moment, looking at Panam once more before he pushed himself towards the campfire. Wheeling himself forward, he locked his wheels as he sat next to Panam. His ruined armrest was pulled off by the disabled ex-corpo, his SynthSkin-coated hand slowly edging to Panam’s knee, soon comforted by warm caramel skin.  
 **-  
Arasaka Tower, Corpo Plaza  
Goro Takemura  
-  
**It was rare that he ever had a moment to himself.

He found himself in the small room that he had been gifted by Saburo-Kun from whenever they were forced to go to Night City. Japan was where they lived, it was where they found the most comfort, they could reside in privacy on Okinawa where they wouldn’t have to worry about aggressive observation from whoever wished harm upon Master Saburo or the Arasaka bloodline.

He’d been present when the thief from Konpeki had sent the video-link to him, with Smasher watching too. How the fool had claimed that they had taken everything from him, and he would do the same to the corporation. The threat had been followed through, Oda’s head falling to the floor, separate from his body. He had failed, not just as a friend to the young warrior but as a master to him.

His body was left there when they recovered the corpse, to be taken away and cremated on Goro’s orders. In Goro’s room was a small wooden table, carved and put together by the older samurai out of boredom when Arasaka reigned with impunity. Two fresh candles burnt bright, between them sat the golden urn which housed his apprentice’s ashes. A photo of the young warrior when he had just started out under Goro’s tutelage was flat down next to the urn.

Night City held no form of religious centralisation, and for a country like America that focused so much on Christianity, it was even harder trying to find a Shinto priest to begin the process of _kichu-fuda,_ but there was no point. Oda was an orphan, he had nobody who cared about him except Goro. The old warrior had coated himself in black robes, placed his nodachi and tanto in front of the table as the master tried in vain to remember any kind of old saying that express what he felt, but none came to mind, no words could ever do Oda the respect that he deserved.

The fact that he never tried to perform the _tsuya_ as soon as they had cremated the body was a shame, a shame on Goro’s part that he couldn’t show the amount of respect that his young pupil deserved in death. The smell of incense flooded the room, notes of spice and old pine resin that reminded him of his student’s physical presence that could no longer be real. The thief had stolen his sword, stolen his life, stolen everything that he had no right to take.

“I’ll bring your honour back if it is the last thing I do, I won’t allow you to die without any kind of merit or renown, with no glory or respect,” Goro stated, swearing it to himself again in Japanese once again.

Before he could say anything else, there was a ringing in his head. The holo-cell in his hand reminding him with every reverberation that Adam Smasher of all people was trying to call him. He ignored it, refusing to deny the robot the pleasure of getting declined. The call died away, if only for a small moment before the cyborg had decided to call him again and again and again. It was of no surprise that the robotic soldier didn’t care about whatever ritual Takemura needed to perform.

Goro threw the salt over his shoulder quickly, stopping any kind of evil spirit from threatening Oda’s spirit before he finally answered the call. “What do you want, _robotto,_ I’m busy.”

“Mikoshi central, test patient.” Smasher’s voice groaned, oscillating slowly as his voice lingered longer than necessary.

“No.”

“I don’t want to see some poor meatsack on a hologram, but orders are orders.”

“I’m performing a ritual for Oda, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Don’t care. Come up ASAP.”

The call ended as soon as it began, and Goro had soon taken off his heavier robes before he bowed respectfully to his makeshift tribute to his late student. Leaving the room, he approached the nearest elevator as he attempted to avoid every single Arasaka employee that gave him more than a sideways glance. His robes showed off more skin than he liked, all the silver fibres and synthetic muscles that replaced most of his body. His lower half was robotics, he was barely human, but he tried to find anything to keep a grip of his humanity.

Entering the elevator, he had input the code for the Mikoshi laboratory and the elevator soon shot up. If anyone else were there in the elevator then they would have been shocked by the speed of the elevator before it managed to punch through the cloud layer and into the sky. As soon as the rocket elevator stopped, Goro had planted himself steady as it stopped, rocking slightly before he entered the lab.

It was dark, to the point that all the light in the room was coming from the central chamber. The towering shadow of Smasher lingered just in front of the chamber, the bright blue light from the holographic displays growing brighter and brighter, illuminating the front of his massive metal frame. His frame had been disarmed, rocket pods, chainguns and rail-cannons mechanically removed to turn him into a charging tank if the need arose.

Goro stood next to the soldiering cyborg, overshadowed by the mechanical frame wrapped over Smasher’s power armour. “Which poor soul do I need to see begging for life now?”

His frame creaked, his head turning when the damaged skin plate wrinkled upwards. Perhaps that was a sadistic smile. “Militech official. Senior ops manager from what I got out of her. Stout.”

The inner chamber crackled to life, blue light shimmering and beating up and down, electrical charges flowing before the holographic displays finally came to life. Pixels flooding in and fluctuating to form a half-baked, crackling image of a woman. Legs first, wearing black heels that made her look taller than she actually was, flesh covered by a grey skirt, a white shirt tucked tightly in with a designer belt around the waist.

Her hair looked ragged, blonde hair ripped from her well-kept mane into a horrifying blonde mess. The woman’s skin was pale, but what could be seen that wasn’t covered by weave and fabric was bruised, battered and bloodied beyond any recognition. Her face was a mess, cheeks torn and bruised with split lips. He knew Smasher had been sent on an offensive mission against Militech, but his actions, however vile they were, sickened him.

“You are capable of causing such pain, the violence I cannot attribute to anyone else but an army,” Goro muttered. “You sicken me.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“That is no surprise.”

Smasher growled. “Militech bitch, had it coming.”

The holograph of the woman seemed to turn and swivel around, looking at her environment before she dropped to her knees as she saw Smasher. Her eyes were dead. Goro turned to the terminals to the left, looking at the biometric profile. Meredith Stout, Militech employee, blonde hair, stern from what her assumed profile stated. The hologram of the woman was a far cry from what her profile described. Ops managers were stern, they had their eyes on the ball that kept a corporation or a task force moving, whatever Smasher had done had broken the soul of the woman.

Goro turned to the robotic psycho, although he wasn’t given a returning look. “Did you kill her off quick?”

There was a light thrumming coming from the central chamber, something that seemed to be coming from the mechanic structure of the Mikoshi Consensus that caused a beating to start again. The hologram did not flicker away and die, but instead, it seemed to strengthen more and more, the beating going from a thrum to what seemed to sound like a robotic heartbeat. It throbbed loudly, a dulled screech coming from the chamber as the hologram of Stout seemed to rise from her knees.

The beating grew louder, faster, throbbing and aching and reverbing through the floor and walls until it started a thundering charge that never seemed to stop. The beating stopped but the sound didn’t, and soon enough the robotic structure began to falter and spark before the hologram of Stout stood before she fell again. As she fell, Goro barely realised what had happened before the glass shattered into little pieces, throwing Smasher and Goro away. The Japanese advisor swore his ears were bleeding, and the force that erupted from the chamber was strong enough to throw Smasher to the floor.

He barely registered the scream from the hologram before it died out. The Mikoshi Consensus looked broken, but it could be repaired nonetheless. The padding and metal and forced themselves out of place, metal bending and shearing from the effect of the holographic manifestation. Wires were torn from the roof, sparking as they dangled lifelessly. The main stand which held the hologram in place flickered to life, dying out again for the last time before Goro stood up, Smasher right behind him.

“Not quick enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That break was absolutely lovely. Even if I have given up on my football team winning absolutely anything this year.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for being patient with me, I adore any criticism or praise I get whenever I release a chapter for Fade Away. In the next few days, updates might be around something around 3-4 days instead of the regular 1/2/3 day period. Hopefully, you understand, but this time allowed me to really press more content and a POV from someone else I hadn't been able to in a while.  
> -Apollo


	36. Back in the Game

**_05/10/2077  
Aldecaldos Encampment, Outside of Night City  
The Badlands, Northern California  
V and Panam  
_-  
**“Give me five more minutes, V.” Lennox, the head ripper for the clan stated as he fiddled with the Operating System chip at the base of V’s neck. “You should be walking in no time at all.”

V grunted, his hands tightening around the armrests as he felt electrical pulses tingle his spine. “You said that an hour ago, and I haven’t actually taken a step since I got dragged here. Come on, can you hurry this up?”

Panam had turned up halfway through the technical operation, watching from afar as her friend underwent repairs. “I wouldn’t complain if you don’t want to walk at all after all this time. Then you’d have to travel with us, and as much as I like you, I don’t want to be carrying your ass to bed every night.”

“Ha, Panam, you ever thought of being a comedian?”

“No, but I should write some material and see what I can do if you want me to?” Panam said, stepping towards V with a wide shit-eating grin. He didn’t say a word. “Didn’t think so, big guy.”

The heavily mechanised cyber-soldier remained seated, Panam catching the occasional jolt of his arm or legs when Lennox accidentally shocked a part of the jail-broken Militech OS under the skin. V had been vehemently against having it swapped out, to Teddy and Lennox’s dismay. Instead, he’d gone to the extreme extent of having it repaired as best as it could. His Sandevistan chip was experimental, state of the art from before he unlocked his corpo cyberware.

He couldn’t risk any weakness, especially if the endgame of his campaign against Arasaka was going to end as he thought it would. He needed every advantage he could get a hold of; he couldn’t suffer an expense of making himself weaker. He’d lose his hacks, despite the little use they got considering his skill with his firearms. He felt his skin tingle again, the small bolt of heat travelling down his titanium-coated spinal cord until that heat pooled in his stomach.

He would have felt queasy if it had been his first time getting his brain and spine getting tinkered with. Having his vitals be fiddled with was no different to his arm spasming and having to get a new one. The only difference was that he couldn’t swap out a spine, and swapping out a brain was unheard of.

He’d been forced to take his combat shirt off, exposing the mishmash of scar tissue that coated almost all of his upper right torso. He’d been at peace with his appearance for a long time, no point in getting hung up on appearances when barely anybody got to see what was underneath the combat uniforms and ballistic vests. At the camp it was different, the skin was always on show, legs and arms mostly, but the occasional guy might take his shirt off to take in the sun. That’s when V felt uncomfortable, especially at the encampment.

Everyone else looked normal, their skin was not patchworked, it wasn’t sutured and soldered to hell and back where the tones of the synthetic skin clashed if it was looked at hard enough. The two trios of black metal bolts across his chest, sealed and tightened for a reason that Panam didn’t know or want to know. Then there was the scattering of grey patchwork, a material used when synthetic skin wasn’t available or affordable, something similar to what Rogue had that covered her navel, something she wasn’t scared of showing off.

The only difference was that Panam barely ever saw V exposing his midriff for the purpose of style. He covered himself up on purpose, hidden away under tactical vests, combat padding and protective straps. She leant against the interior of the truck trailer, her eyes wandering over the skin that wasn’t synthetic but the skin that she could just tell was the genuine article. It was rugged, it was darker than the patchwork artificiality that covered the lower half of his stomach.

He was so well-built, so toned and muscled, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was real. Did he become one of those who juiced and had bio-implants to turn him into one of the best soldiers, or did he forge himself into a weapon on his own initiative, decide to augment and cyberize because he deemed it necessary? Thoughts and theories lingered, and she’d soon taken to biting her nails in the silence.

“Got something on your…” V asked, his voice cut off before his voice box groaned a low rumble when he looked at her. His vocal cords must have been implants too. “…mind?”

“Just observing. No lewd thoughts, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

V’s eyes rolled. “Well, you said it. Can’t say I’d blame you if you were though.”

Panam smirked but hid it away quickly. “You know, I’ve been missing the egotistical version of you, then I realised you loved yourself a little too much.”

The male nomad’s eyes glowed a bright yellow, and Panam could just see the small info-links that were visible around his irises. Text and settings scrolling up and down before his eyes returned to their normal colour. Lennox had quickly placed the safety goggles that rested on his forehead over his eyes, small sparks erupting gently from the back of V’s neck before they soon stop completely. She turned to look at the youthful ripperdoc, his bright red mohawk shining under the surgery lights before she joined him, leering over his work to see what he had done to V. His artificial skin was soldered down again, almost welded to the rest of the RealSkin layers that covered parts of his body.

“There we go, V.” Lennox stated. “Try walking now.”

V took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”

Smartass answers or comments aside, V soon managed to stop gripping the armrests and pull himself forward. He adjusted his grip for his weight and active augmentation, stopping himself from lurching forward and into the floor with too much speed. Panam had soon linked her arm with his right, keeping him steady as he took a series of quick breaths as he managed to put one foot in front of the other.

_“Freedom, fucking finally,” Johnny muttered under his non-existent breath. “Let’s blow this dustbowl den and get back into the city.”_

V placed a roll of eddies in Lennox’s hands, the ripper counting them out before Panam had guided V slowly outside of the trailer. As they walked past the campfire, he’d soon unlinked their arms as he began walking on his own. Panam could have sworn he was walking faster than necessary, and she soon found herself left in the sand and dust as he approached the cars at the other end of the camp. Of course, he was going to leave and go back to whatever crusade he was dedicating himself to, and she had very little doubt that it would be anything other than getting his own back at the cost of the Arasaka Corporation.

As she approached, she could already see that V had begun re-tooling and re-arming for his next step. Getting rid of the ripped shorts that he was too large for, he’d donned a pair of ripped black jeans and combat boots, clipping kneepads around his legs before he picked out a sleeveless combat shirt and a ballistic vest. Closing the trunk, Panam approached as he laid out a beacon on the hood of his car, clipping his pistol belt around his waist, ready to ride into the distance once more.

The beacon flooded the hood of the Outlaw in bright blue light, series upon series of files based on the figure of one Adam Smasher. Images of him over the years clashed, some of them where he looked just about human, with others where he looked like a steel demon with barely any skin. She’d caught sight of a warning above every other file, detailing how he’d been so cybernetically enhanced that he was around ninety-seven per cent cybernetics.

“He’s barely human,” Panam commented, standing at V’s side, clips of his tactics and approach playing in front of her. He was a raging bull, made of steel and carbon and everything in between.

“Always has been,” V grunted. “Just a good thing we managed to get what he wanted before he could. One more thing Arasaka doesn’t have.”

Panam had turned off the beacon, with V turning to her lightning-fast before he turned it back on before Panam turned it back off. “Look, I know it’s going to seem like it’s a stupid, stupid question. Is going after Smasher really the best idea right now? After everything, you’ve just started walking and you already want to try and get yourself killed again.”

V’s face was flat, Panam couldn’t glean anything out of him. “He won’t be expecting it.”

“And he’d kill your ass all the same. It wouldn’t matter who was with you, the guy is clearly a fucking tank, and he’d run right through you like he did when we found you!”

V shrugged his shoulders, and before he could even respond to what Panam had said, he’d already been pulled from his thoughts. Panam had pushed him away from the hood of the car, taking the small beacon and placing it into her back pocket. He tried to stop her, raising a hand limply before she pushed him hard again away from the car. She tried it once more, gripping her hand lightly in his silver grip. She’d pulled back to free herself, eventually softly punching away at his ballistic vest, blows that V could barely feel as she desperately swung at his vest. His grip softened slowly, as well as loosening as her punches died away.

She looked at him dejectedly, the look in her eyes gave away what she was thinking. Tears brimmed before slowly falling, but she didn’t cry or whine loudly as anyone else would have. Her fists tightened, nails digging into her palms as she took calm breaths to find her centre. The warm feeling in V’s stomach had died away, leaving him feeling cold and empty as well as being a bloody fool.

V approached slowly, Panam stepped away before she inevitably stepped forward. Her hands found his, finding herself tight in his embrace. “You don’t understand, Panam. He’s taken everything.”

“He hasn’t taken us…” she replied, sniffling as she felt his nose drift slowly against her locks. “…you still have us. You’d always have us. You have me, I won’t leave you here, not on your own. Not again.”

She found comfort in his grasp, warmth in his words even when she disagreed. “I can’t let you get in the way; I won’t let you get hurt when other people need you. Saul and the clan need you.”

Panam gritted her teeth, fighting her way out of his grip before she made eye contact. “Yeah, and you’re a part of the clan too. You’re an Aldecaldo. Don’t think I don’t talk to Saul, even if we don’t agree. He told me everything. He knows what you’re worth, and so do I! You know what he said to me when you were asleep last night? He said you were always one of us, in spirit. You’re an Aldecaldo. The clan needs me, and so do you. You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon, soldier boy.”

V had his eyes aimed directly at the floor as Panam did what she did best. For someone who kept their heart on their sleeve, and was overly emotional more than half the time, it definitely wasn’t her weakness. He tried to hide the smile on his face, a smile that he wished didn’t betray his true feelings about what she was saying. She wouldn’t leave him, she refused to retreat from his side and run.

“You’re insane, you know?” V said, releasing a heavy sigh as he felt like deflating.

Panam smirked. “I’d never run from a fight, not when you need me to fight with you.”

V offered his hands, slowly and reluctantly, but he offered them all the same. She looked at him, how she could look so radiant V had no idea. The sun shone from behind her, and he could just about see the freckles that bridged across from her nose, ending at her cheeks. She put her hands in his, pulling herself forward into his chest as she filled the space between the two. He was warm, even despite the cold metal that seemed to be warming up the more it exposed itself to the sun. Panam could hear his heart beating, an odd doubled-thrum with an echo of a third beat soon after.

She felt his cheek resting on her head before she spoke. “Did you…”

“Did I what?”

“Keep the jacket I gave you, the grey one?”

She could feel his chest vibrate as he let out a muffled laugh, pulling away as he kept one hand in his before he dragged her to the trunk of his car. It opened with a dull thud, the car whining as he reached for the second duffel bag. She could see the aged, wrinkled and thin grey denim jacket, the faded patch of the Aldecaldo skull still stitched into the back, almost ripped in two. After ten years, she felt it in her hands once again, soft and thin before she handed it to V again.

“It doesn’t fit anymore,” V grunted, taking it and folding it before he placed it gently back in the bag. “Tried it once, but I didn’t want to rip it again. Too many memories.”

Panam closed the trunk once again. “Guess I’ll just have to get a new one for you, big guy. Come on, take your holo-beacon and let’s get going.”

“Oh, we’re going somewhere? I didn’t know you were the raid leader now.”

Panam delivered a playful punch to his shoulder. “Get in the car, let’s show everyone that a true legend is one that always comes back to life.”  
 **-  
The Afterlife, Watson District  
-  
**Thanks to Panam’s absolutely insane driving in the Outlaw, the pair of Aldecaldo nomads had torn their way across the Badlands as they approached the border gate. They’d stopped for a moment, where V thought Panam would actually consider being a calm driver.

He was terribly wrong.

She’d increased the speed they were going, forcing the Outlaw to it’s top speed as they slipped in between the lines of traffic. People desperately tried to get out of the desert before the Wraiths saw the waiting treasure troves of valuables and people. At the cost of perhaps a little bit of his sanity, V strapped himself in as soon as the modified Aldecaldo Outlaw was in an empty lane, opposed by a small guard post.

She’d revved the engine violently, the car roaring and thundering forward like a raging bull as it crashed through the border stations and straight into the outer city districts. The NCPD had been too slow, and completely unprepared for a black speeding bullet on the road, zooming into the city without care for speed or law. They’d sped past the Biotechnica energy farms in the south, straight through the Pacifica before they found themselves in Watson.

The sun had just begun to set, a sight that V had became familiar with suddenly obscured by the concrete jungle of mega-buildings and apartment blocks that towered over everyone in the city. Filtering into the regular traffic, V managed to unstrap himself, allowing himself to take a deep breath as Panam slapped the steering wheel. She opened the window, one arm dangling out the window as the approached the turn-in to The Afterlife.

V had been expecting to be welcomed by the familiar sights of bouncers at the door, chains of Night City youth waiting to be let into the hottest club in the city. He was instead greeted by gunshots, the sight of sleek black and red cars, neon tigers printed on the front. Shots were fired back, and V swore he could have seen the sight of a few familiar faces from Lizzie’s Bar. They’d ducked behind a flipped-over van, with Emmerich and Shaitan firing back alongside some of the Mox.

“Fuckin’ Claws,” V growled, reaching into the backseat, grabbing his repeater rifle.

Panam revved the engine, the wheels slipping from left to right. “Time to defang them?”

“Damn right. Full steam ahead, into that black sedan.” V ordered, throwing the repeater strap over his shoulder.

The familiar engine scream sounded, mixed with a terrifying screech from the wheels. The Outlaw thundered forward down the entry to the club, the bull-bar of the Outlaw crushing the two Claws in front before the first sedan flipped onto its roof. For a moment, the gunfire stopped out of sheer surprise at the unknown reinforcements. The Crystal Dome settings provided a little more security, hiding the identity of the drivers.

That was before they stepped out. Panam got out first, putting the two Claws that had been crushed out of their misery. Next, V had got out as he opened fire simultaneously. The rest of the Claws were shocked, desperately trying to escape from their opposition before they were filled with lead. The shots, followed by a click, followed by more shots were haunting as a hail of gunfire forced the Japanese corpo-gangoons into a corner, a kill zone that would be their grave.

The black-clad shooter from the makeshift supercar didn’t let up once. As soon as his rifle clicked, and the goons tried to fight back, they got forced back. Gunfire from the Afterlife mercenaries kept them pinned down, ready to be eliminated by a merc wielding a pair of ornate pistols and smirk on his face. The two death squads from the Japanese gang were cut down, down to the man who tried to charge V in one last desperate attack when he went to reload his pistols.

The final Tyger Claw drew his tanto, slicing wildly as V managed to slip his empty pistols into their holsters. He ducked, dodged and checked every single slice and stab that was aimed at him, soon catching the arm in a solid grip that refused to let go. Panam moved towards the Afterlife, going to aid the Mox girls and the mercs when she caught sight of the final guard drive his head into V’s face.

V was thrown back, laughing as he felt the bloodstream from his nose, definitely broken, much like the last goon would be. He let out a sadistic laugh, letting the goon get one more slice before his arm was caught again, driven upwards before being snapped. V stole the tanto from the air, one hand wrapped around the goon’s throat as they approached the red Archer, driving his skull into the roof, the tanto soon following as V drove the Japanese dagger through skull and metal.

His silver hand brushed away the blood, red fluid rolling freely against the silver chrome. He managed to steal a pack of cigarettes and matches from the dead man’s pockets, lighting the match against his boot as his cigarette glowed. Almost as if it was just another day, V stepped up onto and over the hood of the car, dropping down as the familiar silver mercenary stepped out from his cover, wiped away his floppy brown hair to see his former ally.

“V?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a cheeky one here, one to give us a little more Panam/V solidification as well as his glorious return and to throw us back into the main story. Looking for Spider, Getting rid of the Claws and the Voodoos and then hunting down Smasher before the last mission. I'm not sorry for this cliffhanger though.
> 
> I'm so grateful for the response this story has gotten. I never thought I would have been given the chance to have such a great following when I started writing Fade Away and every kudos, comment and bookmark means the world to me.
> 
> -Apollo


	37. Wounded Animals

**_05/10/2077  
The Afterlife, Watson District  
Night City, California  
V  
_-  
**The silver-skinned borg had given V a harsh pat on the shoulder, heavy-handed and rough but friendly nonetheless. The Afterlife mercenaries who had solidified and constructed a main operating base out of the club begun cleaning out the parking lot. V hadn’t noticed before, that there was a bright, neon red sign declaring that the Watson nightclub was closed until the sign’s bright glare went dead once more.

“How did you even?” Shaitan began.

V shook his head. “Long story, but Panam here found me in the desert. If it weren’t for her, for the nomad clan she’s a part of, I’d be dead. I’ve known her for a long time, really.”

Panam approached, her submachine gun tight in her grip. She’d tightened the strap around the grip of the weapon, slowly slipping it across her back as she walked towards the two heavily-mechanised mercenaries. “Known me long enough to get his ass saved a few times more than normal. Nice to meet ya.”

Shaitan huffed something that V assumed was a laugh. “Ain’t that a coincidence that you saved the dumbass who tried to fight Adam fuckin’ Smasher. Never took you for a gonk, V, guess you must be dumber than you look.”

“It was either that, or we don’t escape at all,” V grunted, casually reloading the two empty pistols before sliding them back into his holster. “What’s been happening, those Claws must have been brave to get themselves flatlined attacking Afterlife.”

Shaitan shrugged. “Come on in, you missed a lot of shit.”

Panam was the first to get down the steps into the main club. The staircase had been turned into a killzone, laser tripwires connected to mines, heavy-gun turrets dangling from the roof above the stairs. V had taken his time, as he and Shaitan took the time to make sure no other Claws arrived for another firefight. It bugged V more than it ever had done, the fact that any group of gangoons had grown the sack to actually consider attacking Rogue’s base was a warning. Them being equipped and prepped by ‘Ex-Arasaka’ contractors were known, they were a Japanese gang funded by a Japanese corporation, the connection was obvious but it was always a rumour on the street.

Groups of mercs moved the wrecked cars and to the side of the carpark, a group of dirty-looking men and women pushing them away into the nearby storage units filled with welding and cutting tools, the wrecks destined to be stripped for parts. The Outlaw drifted neatly into a parking space as three rows of traffic bollards and security barricades rose up from the ground, blocking off the road. Bodies were gathered, burnt away into nothing except charred bones and melted chrome.

V followed Shaitan, the pair of mercenaries catching up to the nomad smuggler as they walked through the main corridor and into the club. Emmerich wasn’t at the door, instead replaced by two heavily armed and heavily cyberized soldiers, most likely Maelstrom if V had to hazard a guess. As they entered the club, Claire and her male co-workers focusing on fixing and wiring explosives and parts together. The club’s heavy thudding dub-music and lightning-fast lazrpop replaced with something more historic, the synth sound was gone, replaced with the audio of what seemed to be genuine drums, guitars and bass. Mercenaries settled at different areas of the club, bringing out more ammo and supplies before they went back to normal, smoking and standing around, ready for conflict.

The trio turned to the booth where Rogue always sat, with Squama and Emmerich at each side of the entry to the old solo’s private seat. They’d approached, and V had soon laid his eyes on a familiar face. The late leader of the Maelstrom, Royce, his hollowed-out metal skull sat in the centre of the table, a trophy for the female crimelords extensive collection. As they went past Emmerich and Squama, he gained a cheesy smile from the Haitian soldier, largely different to the curt nod that Emmerich had given him.

It was Rogue’s new crowd that was a surprise. Dum-Dum, the aggressive Maelstrom second that V had encountered getting the Flathead. His five eyes had turned from a bloody red glare to a grass-green glow as he took another hit from his skeef inhaler. Across from him, was Rita and a group of other girls from Lizzie’s Bar and the Mox. Rogue’s eyes widened for a solid few seconds before she realised she was in front of her criminal compatriots and calmed herself down.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” Rogue announced. “The prodigal son returns. Welcome back, V. I heard reports from Shaitan that you died in the desert.”

“Ain’t no grave that can hold my body down,” V grunted, joining the group as he sat next to Dum-Dum, Panam sitting close as Shaitan remained stood up. “Silver Soldier here said some shit went down when I was gone.”

Rogue tutted. “A veritable assortment of fuck-ups, anything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. Royce here tried to test me, so I had his head ripped off. Dum-Dum here is a lot smarter than he sounds. The Tyger Claws razed the Sixth Street Sixers because why the fuck not, then tried it with the Valentinos but Mr Orta had his boys zero any Claw that walked into Valentino territory. The Voodoo Boys haven’t said shit, so that’s good. The Mox here weren’t so lucky. Suzie Q got killed in revenge for what happened to the Devil of Kabuki, and Lizzie’s got attacked. Oh, and Smasher has been on a rampage.”

V had been quiet as the legendary mercenary spoke, detailing how every single aspect of gang warfare somehow managed to collapse at the feet of the Tyger Claws when they struck out and ripped the city apart. The defences of the inner club, V started picking away at as he examined each mercenary. Most were from the Afterlife, easily visible as Rogue’s group of killers, but V picked out the others who were high on turbo-roids as the Animals or the heavily augmented guys and gals who were from what remained of the Maelstrom.

“Did you get anything from Bartmoss’ cyberdeck?” V asked.

Shaitan gave out a loud sigh before Rogue handed him a holo-tablet. It lit up as soon as he touched the screen, and he could hear the wheezing of Dum-Dum at his side as he tried to open the tablet. ICE security that refused to be broken when V jacked into it, coding, encryption that re-encrypted itself and changed the entry code every ten seconds, the countdown a taunt to an impossible puzzle.

“Nyx got himself killed cracking it, and it dropped out some old theoretical theories from Bartmoss, blueprints for future-tech that we haven’t tried to decrypt and a set of locations. I went with Shaitan and Squama to each one, and in the last one, all we got was the tablet. It’s meant for Spider, which makes sense because we haven’t been able to crack it.” Rogue spoke. “Should have expected it. They always did like chasing white rabbits on the net.”

Panam looked puzzled. “Spider? As in Spider Murphy, the net-runner that ran with you guys in the twenties?”

Rogue nodded. “The very same went missing as soon as she lost contact with Bartmoss. Paranoid, but I can’t blame her. If the corps could get Bartmoss, they could get her.”

“So, we still need to find Spider,” V grunted. “Right, let’s get on it.”

“Not a chance, fucko.” Dum-Dum growled from his side. “We have an issue, and we need it fixed before you guys go on your wild goose chase. The Claws need putting down, and it needs done now.”

“As much as I hate looking at his ugly ass, I gotta agree, V,” Rita said from the side. “We lost Suzie, and we lost Lizzie’s to the Claws. We’re hiding out here for now, but we haven’t heard shit off Judy or Evelyn since it happened. She knows a way we could get rid of the Claws, and I’m pretty sure she might be able to crack that fancy pad of yours there. You just got to get her.”

Rogue turned to Rita. “Who’s leading the Mox right now, Rita?”

“As of now, me.” The purple-haired Mox stated. “I’d be, willing, to give it to you as long as the girls are looked after and we get some proper security. But the Claws need to go first, they killed our founder, they killed Suzie, but burning down Lizzie’s was the last straw.”

It was of no surprise to anyone else that the Moxes wanted to get rid of the Claws for good. The Claws killed Lizzie, the founder of the club and they had always tried to bring them down, kidnapping girls for their own trafficking and prostitution ring and now they’d killed their current leader and burnt their base down. The Tyger Claws waged gang war like the best of the gangs, but they never realised that the same could happen to them, and in a decisive way to burn them root and stem.

Panam had to smother a laugh before she got up and walked off. “Shit never stops here, does it?”

The group looked at the female nomad. V’s head turned. “Where you going?”

“Getting Judy and Evelyn. You guys can jack off until I get back.” Panam replied, stopping at the exit. “You coming, V?”

V turned from Panam to Rogue, and then back to Panam before he turned to Rogue once more. “Can’t be that bad right, it’s a three-on-one gang war. Mox, Animals, and Maelstrom, we can just raid Clouds now and get this over with.”

Dum-Dum hit his inhaler once more, taking a heavy huff of skeef as Rogue and the Mox took a light sip from the drinks that had been provided to them. Of course, it was never going to be that simple, why the hell would it be. The Tyger Claws was getting a push from Arasaka, there was no other way they would have gained such an edge to just exterminate two gangs and push the others back in such a way, so quickly.

“Not at all,” Rogue said, grinding her teeth, her jaw tightening. “We need to prepare, take them apart slowly or wipe them out with one strike. If Judy knows a way to do it, then we need to get her. Once we get Judy, exterminate the Claws, then we can find Spider, get rid of the Voodoo Boys and then see why Arasaka was keeping Johnny on a fucking bio-chip.”

_“Well, shit. Forgot that she thinks she’s still on the train of thought that I’m still on a piece of plastic and code.” Johnny interrupted, attempting to lie down like a model on the table, his hand on top of Royce’s head. “The fewer people that know the better, but Rogue can be trusted. Besides, she’s getting that look again, she’s starting to care about people. Shaitan, Spider, Squama, you.”_

_V grumbled internally. “We’ll tell her when we get Judy and Evelyn.”_

_“Your decision, V. Whatever you say.”_

“Right,” V got up. “We’ll get Judy and Evelyn back here; you need to start gearing up for whenever we start gunning for the Claws again.”

Rogue nodded. “V, be careful this time. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

The pair of nomads had left without another word, making their way out of the club as Shaitan and the rest were left in the dust. They had no doubt that the pair would manage to get the job done, at least in their own special way. That, and they would probably make a big news story out of the entire situation. V and Panam had jogged up the steps, readying themselves for whatever might greet them on the way to find the two women, and the inevitable conflict when they came across the Tyger Claws once more.  
 **-  
Judy’s Apartment Complex, Kabuki Sub-District  
Night City, California  
-  
**The drive was short, mainly due to Panam’s manic driving in a car that was much smaller and quicker than her beloved Warhorse. The Outlaw was deft and swift, and whilst it never packed the turret or armour of her truck, it made up for that in the sense of pure speed which the female nomad had exploited for all it was worth. They’d sped through the small roads, traffic was less packed and dense, easier to get through, Kabuki was so tightly clustered that people were forced to be slow.

Not that Panam knew the meaning of slow, living life one quarter-mile at a time. She’d drifted and slid through the crossroads, she’d handbrake on the tight turns, forcing the engine to scream louder than it ever had before. If people didn’t know that they were around, they certainly would have as soon as they heard the demonic screech from the hypercar’s engine.

They’d gotten to the complex, curling into a quick stop in the centre of the parking lot. The apartment complex was smaller, smaller than ninety-nine per cent of the buildings in the centre of the city. The sun had just begun to set, and V took a quick moment to look out at the dock which the apartment block shadowed before he caught sight of the Claw cars parked outside too. He followed Panam into the apartment block. He tightened his gunbelt as he ran up to the stairs, right behind the headstrong Aldecaldo as they reached the floor of Judy’s apartment.

He’d taken the first steps, taking out a pistol before he pushed in the door. It was ajar, and his gun was raised immediately, as was Panam’s. The main room was a mess, kitchen utensils scattered on the floor, shattered plate shards cracked and broken apart. Blood and cybernetic oil were splashed on the kitchen top, some of it dry, some of it fresh and runny. Panam had ducked into the bathroom and the single bedroom, both unoccupied before they approached the final room across from Judy’s mechanic set.

The door was closed, not ajar unlike the apartment entrance. The two nomads had split on both sides of the door, Panam’s hands tight on her rifle as V went for the handle. With a quick twist and push, he was greeted by a triple-shot of heavy revolver gunfire directed, just missing his head by millimetres. The ringing was fresh in his ears as he pulled back from the door as Panam made her move.

“Judy! It’s Panam and V, it’s okay! We’re here to help you out!” Panam had called out. “Judy, you okay?”

“Judy’s not…” a shallow voice replied. “Judy’s not here.”

Panam had stowed her rifle to the side, pushing forward into the room. It was Judy’s bedroom, and huddled up into the corner with an Overture heavy revolver was the pale, scratched-up face that V recognised. Evelyn was cornered, trying to merge into the wall to get away from the corpse of the Tyger Claw with a hole in his head and his chest. Her foot pushed her nowhere but further into the corner that she couldn’t advance into any more than she already tried.

V was slow to walk in, putting his pistol away as he flipped the body over. A clean shot through the head and the left lung, distinct tattoos and augmentations that marked the man out as a Tyger Claw assassin. His smart-pistol had been lopped onto the floor, his katana still sheathed on his belt.

Panam was quiet, speaking in a hushed whisper. “It’s okay, Evelyn, we’re here to help.”

“You, you’re…” Evelyn muttered, halfway to silence. “I can’t remember your name, but him. I know him.”

Panam dropped to her knees, slowly crawling forward. “That’s V, we helped Judy save you from the scavvers.”

The woman who V had taken his cursed contract with was shaking, violently so as the revolver jittered and jolted in her light grasp before it dropped to the floor, clicking empty as Panam continued her approach. V had remained away from Evelyn, he didn’t know what she was going through, whether she was able to even look at anyone the same way as she did before she was sold to the monstrous scavvers.

“Judy, Judy…” Evelyn mumbled. “Not here, she said she’d stay.”

V scanned around the apartment, and Judy just wasn’t there. “Panam, it’s best we go and get Evelyn out now. We can find Judy separately. Let’s go.”

He’d peeked into the room, and caught Panam slowly slide her hands across Evelyn’s skin. Her jittering nature had calmed immensely, slowing down as Panam circled around her and gave her a gentle hug, carefully lifting her to her feet and escorting her past the body. She’d kept Evelyn from looking at the body, with V forging ahead down to the car. Down to the Outlaw, V had unlocked the car.

“I’ll give a call to Judy, see if she picks up,” V muttered, Panam sliding Evelyn into the passenger seat before gunfire ricocheted off the nearby cars. “Fuck! Get down!”

The gunfire was heavy, the bullets pinging and flying off as the armour that was welded to the car made itself useful. In the silent spaces, V popped up to fire off a few rounds as he ducked behind his car. He’d opened the driver-side door, activating the Crystal Dome settings before Panam joined him. He’d pushed her into the car.

“What the hell are you doing?” Panam exclaimed before V had already closed the door. “V!”

“Get out of here, I’ll meet you at Rogue’s! Go, now!”

V jumped up, both pistols firing blindly at whichever Tyger Claw had popped up from their hole. Reaching the corner of the building, he’d went to turn as soon as he felt a bullet drive itself into his vest. It threw him to the floor, thankfully saving him from a bullet to the brain, the bullet impacting where his head once was. He’d reloaded as quickly as he could, with one Claw being unlucky enough to get a bullet driven into his skull as he rounded the corner.

His chest heaved, his lungs felt tired and bruised and he’d forgot how much falling his ass had hurt without sub-dermal armour. He’d cursed to himself, pushing himself further before he ducked behind a nearby dumpster to the right, narrowly dodging multiple bursts of gunfire as he threw himself into cover. Bullets dented the dense steel of the dumpster, V catching his breath as he blindly fired at wherever the gunfire was coming from.

“Shit…” V grunted, sucking in the air as quickly as he could before he poked his head out, recoiling back before his head got blown off once more. “Fuck!”

He’d patted down on his waist and his thigh but was greeted with nothing but two more magazines for his pistols. No heavy explosives, no stunners, nothing. Once more, he fired blindly into the crowd as he pushed out and away from the garbage dumpster. His blind fire gave him a chance to corner the apartment building again. He’d used his cyberdeck to highlight anything he could use, granted a small boon in the form of a gas pipe and a parked Apollo motorcycle.

As it had done since he’d arrived back in Night City, gunfire pressed towards him, pressuring him to do something to save his life. In the quick absence of gunfire as the Claws went to reload, V turned out to face them, firing as quickly as he could before aiming his last bullet in the magazine at the pressure pipe. Burning steam shot out, pushing back the Claws as they fired back, two of the Japanese gangoons falling to the floor screaming in pain as steam burnt through their skin.

V slipped his pistols away, sliding onto the cycle as he jack-wired into the bike, the engine revving loudly as V ripped his wire out. The bike sped off, V barely managing to get control as he swerved out of the dead-end, through the steam and across the parking lot and into the road. Gunfire whistled past him, two bullets ripping his first tyre apart before his remaining wheel was tee-boned by another car.

He’d felt unsafe many times in his life, that apartment gunfight was no different, but he’d never felt flighty or weightless. The car that crashed into him finally forced him into the position, with V and the bike flying over the side of the cliff. All that was below was the docks, a makeshift shantytown with a series of small fishing boats and sailing vessels. Rusting metal roofs came closer and closer as V managed to just grasp the body of the bike, using it as a downward battering ram as V crashed through the roofs of the metal houses.

He could barely feel his right arm, the silver prosthesis felt lifeless and limp. He’d rolled off of the motorcycle wreck, onto his stomach as he used his left arm to push himself up from the ground. His arm felt numb, but the left side of his body echoed pangs of blunted pain with every step he managed to take without falling back down into the dirt and rusting metal. Just managing to haul himself out of the temporary doorway, he collapsed into the wet dirt and sand as the small home collapsed behind him.

He could hear the flickering, the slow-growing smell and feeling of flames that rose from the wreck of the bike. Shouts from above reverberated down the cliff, where V could hear the low-pitch Japanese shouts from his hunters. His left holster was absent, his silver arm flopping against dirty jeans where one of Jackie’s pistols once rested. Pushing himself up, he forced himself to his feet as he walked through the shantytown.

“Fuck, fuck!” V grunted as he limped through the dockside settlement. “Sorry, Jackie, I’m fucking sorry.”

How much worse could it possibly be, he’d lost one of Jackie’s pistols, torn himself apart out of a pure accident. His left hand slapped down on the handle of his remaining pistol, reassuring himself of its presence as he continued. The very few that wandered around that area of the settlement looked at him like some odd artistic structure that had been set up in the centre of Corpo Plaza, something to gawped and gawked at as he pushed past them.

His vision blurred, and his thoughts wandered to others. Jackie was gone, Meredith, everything from the second life he had made for himself was all gone now. Arasaka had taken it away, Smasher ripped it away from his grip and spat on it, with extreme pleasure. That hate, the need to crush the borg’s skull between his hands and piss on the corpse of him was keeping him going. Everyone said, the legends said, the dead men said, that Smasher was invincible.

V would prove it wrong, one way or another. He’d put a bullet in his head, whether it condemned him to death as well, killing him would be worth it.

As his vision continued to blur, he started to notice that his HUD was buzzing too. A shouting from somewhere in the dock-town pushed more people towards him, rushing and fearing as V huddled himself into the crowd, stumbling with them as he struggled to stay on his feet. Gunfire, shots erupting from behind as V rushed inside the crowd, ducking and diving through alleyways, crossing a thoroughfare that linked the shantytown to the main docks below Kabuki and the steps back into the city.

He'd cursed himself once again, fate was no longer on his side, that much was true. Rogue hadn’t been lying, but then again, what reason did she have to lie to him? Zero, the Tyger Claws had dropped their trousers once again and let everyone know what they were about. Looking back, as he rushed alongside the crowd, he’d managed to hide in a small alcove between two huts where he could take a breather.

Fighting Smasher out of pure impulse was stupid, he’d rushed into the fray once again and now he was paying the price. His back ached, his arm needed fixing, but the thought that Smasher had even the faintest clue of what his name was, his entire life (or what was left of it) was at risk. The two people he cared about the most, Misty and Vik, they could easily be found out, subjected to fates worse than death at the hands of the bastard corporate whore.

_“Gotta keep going, V.” Johnny muttered, appearing to crouch in front of V as the mercenary slid to the ground. “V, don’t stop now because you got fucked up a little bit. Ain’t no time to die, not now.”_

_The nomad sat still, his sight blurring with black spots in his eyes. Gunfire sounded getting closer, dull thudding turned into a pop-pop-pop as V managed to drag himself up. “I fucked up, twice in a row.”_

_He felt a sharp twinge of pain in his cheek, a spark that originated from Johnny slapping him across the face. Was that even real? “Stop being a bitch, I didn’t force you to crawl out of the desert to die in a fucking slum. Get up, call Judy and get back to Rogue and Panam. If you don’t, I will take this body and force you.”_

_“Shut the fuck up, Johnny.”_

_“Make me, V. Get the fuck up, Samurai. We have a city to burn.”_

The fuzz and blur in his sight, his HUD cleared up as he saw the shadowed form of somebody in front of him. V himself was obscured, hidden away in the dark as he caught sight of the shotgun in his hands. A Tyger Claw, separated from his pack that was hauling ass further up to the docks. They knew their prey was down below, not on the roads, they’d hunt V down and strip him for parts, sell him off as a body-pillow for some scummy piece of shit that needed a body to fuck.

That body wasn’t gonna be him. V lurched forward from the shadows; his arm wrapped around the neck of the Tyger Claw as he dragged the man into the darkness. He panicked, writhing helplessly in the grip of an experienced cyber-soldier. V felt the sharp pangs of an elbow in his side, powering through the pain as he wrenched his neck violently from the left to the right, a loud crack ripping through the silence as the Claw’s body dropped into the mud.

“Try breathing now, you piece of shit…” V grunted, tumbling from the shadows as he pushed himself further, hopping in and out of shadows. “…damn it. Gotta get out, get into the city.”

He’d slinked back to the thoroughfare, rushing across the small bridge into the city, sprinting as quickly as he could. Into the city’s seedy underbelly, he snuck into a nearby neon-lit underbelly, collapsing against the wall as _Johnny reappeared once again._

_“Good fuckin’ job, V. Like a real fuckin’ sneaky ninja.”_

_V shook his head. “Nice to know you appreciate some real skill.”_

_“Fix that arm, and then we can talk about some appreciation.” Johnny flexed his left arm, and what was left of V’s right silver arm flexed too. “Me and you, one the and same. The sooner I get in that chip, the fewer problems we have. Might be able to put me in some holo-projector. Then we won’t have to worry about turning into the same person.”_

_“That can happen?” V asked._

_“Worst case scenario.”_

V let out a massive sigh, flicking up his HUD and the holo before he slid through his contacts. Judy, Misty, Vik, a multitude of corpo contacts that he had no reason to speak to. He was dead to them, dead to the world that wasn’t the underworld of the City of Dreams or the Aldecaldos. He selected Judy, waiting as her avatar of the cute anime ghost appeared before her face popped up on his HUD.

“V? What’s up?” Judy asked, her eyes wandering before she caught V’s state. “Oh shit, are you okay?”

V grunted something, words even he couldn’t make sense of. “Third alley off the Kum’N’Grab away from the Kabuki docks. Need help. Evelyn’s… safe.”

“I’ll be right there. Just, don’t flatline!”

The call was cut not long after that, from Judy’s end rather than V’s. He remained slumped in the alley, his arm was limp and his body numb. The dull fuzz and scramble in his HUD returned, a light thudding and drumming bouncing around his head, pounding in his school. His version started to blur, black spots came in and out as his head lulled from left to right. His silver arm sparked a little, little jolts of electricity tickling the neuro-patch on his shoulder where his old arm used to be. The black spots became longer and longer, and just as he fell out of the loop, he felt himself getting dragged across the ground, by a woman with striped, green-pink hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a good rhythm going at the moment, mainly because I'm planning on another project which might be original. I did want to ask though:   
> I've been planning as soon as Fade Away is finished that I might add maybe 5-6 small one-shots from different parts of V's life, from military, corpo life and maybe after the story. Would you guys want that, or would you want something different as just one big one shot? Leave preferences in the comments!  
> -Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> So, my first story on a new site but I had a muse and I absolutely adored how Panam and V are written as a couple. I wanted to break the mould and change a few things about V and his backstories, and this is how I could see one playing out. This is just like, the prologue to the prologue. His exile will be next, and then we get to the good Corpo stuff. 
> 
> -The Apollo Sinner


End file.
